


Stay With Me

by TheFaeryQueen



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, I'm Bad At Tagging, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Smut, Sort of happy?, post 8x03
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-02-23 20:48:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 50,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18709708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFaeryQueen/pseuds/TheFaeryQueen
Summary: This is another post-battle fic. Plenty of amazing ones have been written but I wanted to do my own spin on it. This is mostly just to give myself all the Gendrya I can because I have a sinking feeling that one of them is going to die.When the battle began Arya thought of nothing. She killed as many as she could and then the Night King had shattered when she drove her knife into his dead heart. She hadn't thought of an after, she didn't think there'd be one.The survivors have to pick up the pieces and make sense of what just happened while preparing for the next battle.*I might change the title when I come up with something better





	1. The Bringer Of Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. I'm so happy Gendrya is finally canon.  
> 2\. The way Gendry looked at Arya in 8x02 made me weak in the knees and want to cry at the same time.  
> 3\. This will be from Arya's POV and the show hasn't shown much of what she thinks about Daenerys besides the fact that she wants a dragon so I'm gonna go off the reunion with Jon when she tells him not to forget that they're family.  
> 4\. I probably won't kill many main characters in this one because they'll do that in the show and this fic is my way of coping with the inevitable heartbreak.  
> 5\. I don't know about anyone else but I've been thinking about how long the battle actually went on for. Melisandre died at dawn and it was dark when the battle started. My guesstimation is that it went on for at least 6 hours. I'm not sure how many hours of sunlight there is during winter in Westeros so I'm gonna use the hours of daylight in Sweden (in winter we get like 4-6hours of daylight).

One second the Night King had held her by her throat and the next he had shattered into tiny pieces of ice. He was followed by the White Walkers and then there was the clattering of bones as the Wights fell where they’d been standing. Arya’s ever attentive eyes saw all of this but her mind couldn’t quite believe it happened. She remained crouched in the snow, ready to strike if any of the corpses started to move again.

“It is over” she heard her brother say through the ringing of her ears, or rather the three-eyed raven said it. She stared at him and slowly rose to her feet. Her muscles refused to loosen, she was still expecting to have to defend her life and Bran’s. She didn’t know what to do or where to go. She didn’t like it one bit and Bran wasn’t really helping matters with the way he was staring at her.

“You are Azor Ahai, the bringer of the dawn” Bran said and Arya frowned. She tried to think of where she’d heard that name before but her head started throbbing and her vision was blurry due to the blood running down her forehead. She wanted to ask questions but she supposed they could wait. As she turned around to look for the easiest way to get Bran out of the Goodwood and into the castle her gaze landed on Theon Greyjoy. She’d hated him for betraying Robb, but he had saved Sansa and come back to fight with them. He’d given his life to protect Bran. Limping, she made her way over to his body and closed his eyes, he shouldn’t have to stare at the horror even in death. Arya wasn’t sure why it mattered. At least it made her feel a little less guilty for leaving him there. She returned to Bran and started pushing the wheeled chair through the snow. Their progress was hard won, the cold had made the wheels freeze and the ground was more uneven than usual as bones and fresh corpses were scattered all over it. If she could make it as far as the archway leading to the courtyard she could at least find someone to help her with the pushing. If anyone else had survived the battle.

As the noises conjured by her mind were replaced by the sounds coming from the yard just beyond the wall, she realised that there were others still alive out there. Her efforts to push the unwilling chair doubled and at last they reached the arch, the doors were broken and dangling off their hinges. As she and Bran took in the sight before them Arya realised that no matter how much she tried, it’d be impossible to get Bran any further in his chair. Seven bloody hells. The carnage looked even worse than when she’d been on the battlements. There were piles upon piles of dead and the few living couldn’t take more than a step or two without treading on them.

“You should go, the ones in the crypts are trapped” Bran told her and she looked at him with a blend of horror and relief. The dead had risen again, no one had thought about that possibility. Had the dead in the crypts risen too?

“Is Sansa alive? Is she alright?” she frantically asked her brother, she didn’t recognise her own voice but at least she knew she hadn’t lost it forever.

“She is” was all she needed to hear before she forced her exhausted body to move. The sprint towards the entrance to the crypts was frantic like when she’d run through the streets of Bravos chased by the waif. Some of the living that could still stand were dragging those that couldn’t, others were digging through the heaps of dead in search of anyone still drawing breath.

As she neared the entrance to the crypts she had to stop, the mountain of bodies covered the entire door and men were digging through it. Among them was Ser Davos who turned towards her and she saw a flicker of something that might’ve been relief. She didn’t know the man but Jon trusted him, so she did too.

“Lady Arya” he greeted and hobbled towards her, his arm was hanging limp at his side, it must have been wrenched from its socket at some point.

“We have to get to the crypts,” she wheezed, her ribs were starting to hurt. She hadn’t felt it before but as she was coming down from the high battle induced, she felt it. “They’re trapped in there” she continued and the man looked puzzled, probably wondering how she knew but decided not to question it. A few of the other men paused their search among the tangled limbs and looked at the younger Lady Stark. She looked about as far from a Lady as one could.

“Right… well, you heard the Lady, we need to get to the crypts” Ser Davos commanded, Jon had told her he used to be a smuggler, then he was the hand of Stannis and then Jon. Her brother had chosen well, anyone who kept his wits after all of this was well-equipped to be the Hand of a King. Not that Jon was King in the North anymore.

“How are we supposed to get to them?” she asked, loud enough for the men halfway up the dead mountain.

“Suppose we just keep digging… might be easier to start at the top” one of the men said, he sounded empty, like he wasn’t quite there and Arya couldn’t blame him. His words sank in and she felt like she was going to be sick. She quelled the nausea and started climbing up the mass of friend and foe. Ser Davos followed her but his age and useless arm hindered him. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the man who’d answered her question help the older one. She silently started praying, hoping that the God of Death hadn't taken her sister since Bran saw her. She didn't understand how his visions worked. They’d just started to mend their relationship and she finally felt like she and Sansa were of a like mind.

Together she and the men, a mix of Northmen and Wildlings threw the bones of Wights and fallen friends. Their dead friends wouldn’t begrudge them the rough handling, they had died to protect their loved ones inside and Arya would be damned if she let that be in vain. They could see the top of the door and they all doubled their efforts.

At long last they cleared enough space for the doors to open wide enough for a person to pass through. As a wildling and a Northman pulled on the handles Arya prepared herself for the worst. The door wouldn’t budge though. The people on the inside must have barricaded it. It had probably been Sansa who ordered it and it made Arya proud of her sister who had become so different from the girl she’d once been.

“SANSA” she pounded on the door with all the strength she had left. She just needed to know she hadn’t lost her sister. She hadn’t let herself dwell on the possibility of having to live without her siblings before the battle, there had been no point as she hadn’t expected to survive it. The groaning of wood and people could be heard from the other side of the door and then it started to open. The ones on the outside pulled while those inside pushed and then the dark skinned woman always next to the Dragon Queen stepped out. She was considerably paler than usual but Arya wasn’t all that concerned, she just wanted to see her sister.

“Arya,” Sansa breathed and then they were embracing, holding each other tightly as they had when Arya first arrived in Winterfell. “You’re alive… you’re alive…”

“Yeah… so are you” Arya mumbled and gently released herself from Sansa’s arms. She didn’t want to, but there were still things to be done.

“Where’s Bran? Jon?” Sansa asked her, and Arya swallowed. She hadn’t let herself think about Jon. Because Jon was stupidly brave and probably would’ve gotten himself killed. Again.

“Bran’s fine… still the three-eyed raven… whatever that means,” she saw her sister’s lips twitch as if she was about to smile. “Don’t know about Jon, haven’t seen him”, he hated the way the smile died before it could form on her sister’s face.

“Wouldn’t he have been in the Godswood with your brother? The dead broke out of their bloody tombs and then they fell” Tyrion Lannister asked, “I’d have thought he’d stick to his brother after killing the Night King” the short man looked up at the sisters, as they looked down on him and Arya felt like the blue-eyed monster held her by the throat again.

“He didn’t” she paused, not sure she actually wanted everyone to know yet. But Bran would surely tell whoever got to him first so there was no point delaying it. “I did. I killed the Night King” several eyes were on her and she wanted nothing more than to hide away. They looked at her like she was some hero from a song. She wasn’t a hero though. She knew how to move without making a sound, she knew where to land her blows to kill. She had become _No One_ when she entered the Godswood. The heroes of this battle were all dead.

“You killed the Night King?” Sansa asked, with more wonder than shock. Arya knew Sansa had watched her when she was sparring in the courtyard with Lady Brienne and her squire. Sansa had seen the faces she’d stolen from the House of Black and White.

“I did… stuck him with the pointy end” that did get a smile from her sister.

“Forgive the intrusion my ladies, but there are things we must do” Lord Varys interrupted and Arya was grateful for it. She’d been trying to figure out how to end the conversation. She didn’t want to talk about what she’d done. She knew she had to at some point, but not now.

“Of course. Does anyone know if the Great Hall still stands?” Sansa asked, slipping into the role of Lady of Winterfell. Someone behind Arya said that it did. “Good. I want the wounded to be brought there, anyone well enough to move has to help carry those that aren’t” she turned around to the women and children who had made their way out of the crypts. “Do any of you know anything about healing? I don’t know if our maester is alive”

“I do” a rather fat woman with a babe in her arms said, Arya recalled having seen her with Jon’s fat friend from the wall. A few other women said they could help with it too. Most of the faces were strangers to Arya but Sansa knew every single one by name. “What should we do with the children, m’lady?”

“The older ones will have to care for the younger ones. We’ll get them to the Lord’s chamber next to the Great Hall” Sansa decided after deliberation.

They made for a strange entourage as they made their way over the courtyard. More survivors were trying to find their friends. There were more survivors than Arya could’ve ever thought. As they passed, men and women with dirty faces asked what to do and Sansa repeated her orders to each and every one, as well as thanking them for still being among the living.

Arya looked towards the entrance to the Godswood and laid eyes on Bran’s chair. It was empty. He had either decided to crawl from it or someone had carried him. Didn’t much matter which, he’d likely be waiting for them in the Great Hall. Arya would never understand how he knew then things he knew, only that he did. The throbbing in her head had gotten worse and she wanted to sleep, but she knew she couldn’t do that. Not yet. To keep herself busy she looked at every survivor she could see, searching for familiar faces. There were two faces she wanted to find among them. She hadn’t thought about the man she’d lain with before the battle before. She’d only thought of Jon when Sansa asked about him.

She saw Jaime Lannister and Lady Brienne support Podrick Payne between them. A gathering of people were standing a few feet away from the gate and Arya wondered what had their attention. Sansa was still repeating her orders to anyone they crossed paths with and asked them to pass them along. Finally she told the women in their little procession to take the children and get to the Great Hall and that she’d join them as soon as she could. She sent three of the least injured men to fetch whatever was left in the maester’s storage and as much clean linen as they could. She singled out two kitchen maids and two of the older children to fetch and boil water. “Build a fire in the Great Hall and boil it there” she added and as quickly as they could the people did as they were asked. If Arya had paid attention to the short Lannister she’d have caught him looking at Sansa with pride.

“I’ll be helping the wounded get to the Hall milady” Ser Davos said but Sansa grabbed his uninjured arm before he could go anywhere.

“You will get that shoulder looked after before you do anything, Ser Davos,” the old man was about to protest but Sansa continued before he could. “You’ll be of no use to anyone with that arm getting in the way. And we need you for whatever comes next. We can’t risk any festering of your wounds. You too Arya” Sansa instructed and though Arya wanted to stay until she laid eyes on the two faces she wanted to see, she didn’t. She and the former smuggler made their way towards the Great Hall. Every step seemed to take more effort and she nearly collapsed twice before Davos put one of her arms over his shoulder and dragged her towards the makeshift infirmary.

Ser Davos sat her down at the far end of the Hall, at the table where she’d normally sit when there were feasts. As she’d predicted, Bran was in the only chair that would keep him upright, their father’s chair. He didn’t say anything and she was grateful. Ser Davos grabbed the fat woman who was moving with surprising efficiency. There weren’t that many wounded in the Hall yet, but there would be.

“What’s your name?” Arya asked as the woman kneeled in front of her with a cloth and a bucket of water. She felt she should at least know the name of the woman who was about to stitch up her wounds. She would have done it herself but there was no mirror so she couldn’t get the one on her face. Besides, the gash on her face was the only one that needed stitching, the others would close on their own after being cleaned and wrapped. She suspected at least two of her ribs were broken and a few were definitely cracked, probably from the tumble she took after dropping her staff.

“Gilly” the woman answered as she wrung the cloth and started dabbing at her face. She almost chuckled when she thought of all the baths that would need to be organised eventually. It was fortunate that Winterfell was built on top of hot springs and the entire lowest floor was full of pools of steaming but not too hot water. She winced when Gilly made the first stitch simply because she wasn’t expecting it.

As Gilly finished up the stitching and wrapping of Arya’s various wounds she saw a face she hadn’t thought about. The Hound was coming towards her. She was strangely glad he had survived. She’d taken him off her list but didn’t think she cared whether he lived or died. Maybe it was just the relief of seeing another familiar face after being surrounded by strangers.

“Little bitch, you’re not dead then” his face was still covered in blood and he had somehow found a skin of wine.

“Not today” she answered and reached her hand out for the skin. She didn’t like the taste but she needed it.

“Good. Found your strange brother and he told me to carry him here” Arya glanced at her brother and then turned back to The Hound. That explained how Bran got to the Great Hall before anyone else.

“Thank you” She didn’t think Bran would bother with thanking someone who wasn’t about to die. She’d heard him thank Theon before their adoptive brother made his last charge. The Hound just grunted and took the wine back from her, swallowing several times before corking it.

The doors to the Great Hall opened and several heads turned as the Dragon Queen entered, behind her Jon and Sansa followed. The Targaryen still moved with purpose and grace but her once white furs were covered in mud, blood and soot. Jon was limping and looked like he was about to fall any moment had it not been for Sansa holding him upright. Behind her siblings were the ones who’d joined Sansa in the crypts. One more face and all of her pack would be accounted for. When her eyes met Jon’s his face split into a tired grin. She returned it and got to her feet as The Hound got to his. She idly wondered why until she saw the look on her sister’s face. Sansa was looking at the scarred man like she wanted to throw her arms around him.

They met halfway and Arya probably should have greeted the Dragon Queen but she ignored the woman and hugged her brother without a word. They held each other like they had in the Godswood.

“Sansa told me you did it” Jon said as he held her even tighter.

“Yeah…” she mumbled and hoped he wouldn’t say more. But of course he did.

“You saved us all, Arya” he said and she wanted to tell him to shut up. But she didn’t.

“Jon, I need to treat your wounds” Arya sent a grateful look at her sister who only nodded. “Sandor, would you please help me get my brother to the high table?” she could feel Jon stiffen in her embrace as Sansa addressed The Hound by his first name, Sansa barely spoke to anyone in such a casual manner in public. Arya let go of Jon first and she had to push at his chest to make him let go of her. He placed a soft kiss on her head before complying with Sansa’s orders. Arya watched as Jon, Sansa, The Hound and the Dragon Queen who’d remained silent made their way to the high table. They were shortly followed by the Dragon Queens’ council.

She looked towards the high table where her siblings all sat and then she left. She needed to find Gendry and make sure he hadn’t gotten himself killed. As she made her way through the rows of wounded, she could hear the whispers start and feel their eyes following her. Before long there would be countless rumours along with the truth. Everyone would know that Arya Stark had ended the Night King. Maybe Bran would tell them how it all happened. The whispers and stares followed her outside too. No one approached her though. She made her way towards the outer wall. Gendry had been stationed at the front lines with so many others, she didn’t know if he’d survived long enough to be part of the retreat. She could see a flash of red hair at the gates and her breath caught in her throat. The only one in Winterfell with that colour of hair was Tormund the Wildling. He’d been next to Gendry. She moved towards him hesitantly at first and then she steeled herself.

She was almost close enough when he came in through the broken gates. He was dirtier than she’d ever seen him but it was him. The mace strapped to his back and his height would’ve given him away even at a great distance. He was dragging someone with him, she couldn’t tell who it was but the armour looked like that of the Dragon Queen’s Unsullied. The Wildling grabbed the other arm of the wounded man and the three of them made their way towards her. She could only stare at the blacksmith and then their eyes met. She watched as several emotions passed over his face. Shock, disbelief, realisation and then there was the look he’d given her in the forge before the battle. She didn’t have a name for it.


	2. The Sun Did Rise Again

She decided to stay where she was until they reached her, it made no sense for her to move more than she had to. She should probably be resting and she would, once she had Gendry by her side. Preferably in her bed but she could make do with the sacks of grain in the forge if she had to.

The three men were an odd trio. A Wildling, an Unsullied and a royal bastard from King’s Landing, if Jon hadn’t been able to convince the Dragon Queen to be their ally they would have been foes on a different battle field. Maybe they still would be after Cersei. Arya didn’t trust the silver haired woman whose father had burned his subjects alive for entertainment. Jon trusted her, but he also loved her and as Sansa had pointed out, that was dangerous.

“Arya…” her name fell from his lips like a prayer and he looked like he wanted to drop the man he was carrying so he could go to her instead. When she had seen her siblings alive it had been instant relief followed by a new dread. Seeing Gendry was relief and only relief. She had found the ones that mattered the most and none of them were dead. She let her eyes roam over his appearance. His britches were torn and there were gashes of varying depth all along his lower legs. Some of them would perhaps need to be burned close before they festered.

“Gendry” she answered him, she didn’t know what to say to him. She fell into step next to him as they aimed for the Great Hall. She’d been so distracted by finding Gendry that she hadn’t thought about the light outside. When she had gone into the Hall the sky had been black and the only light was from the fires ravaging Winterfell. As she turned her gaze upwards the sky was grey and over the mountains the first sign of the sun could be seen. It was all so very strange to think the world was ending and then the sun was rising like it had every previous morning.

They reached the Hall and the number of wounded had increased in the short time she had been away. Her siblings, the Dragon Queen and her council were still at the high table. Sansa was sewing up a wound on Jon’s arm while the Targaryen was talking to them. She couldn’t hear what they were saying over the sounds of agony the men and women lined up on the floor made.

“Where should we put this one?” The Wildling asked as he looked around the crowded room.

“By the high table. The Queen will want to see him. He’s one of hers” Arya said and they started again as more people staggered into the room behind them.

“Just had to be so fucking far” The red haired man muttered. Gendry was silent but she could feel his eyes on her. They had to step more carefully and Arya walked in front of them instead of next to them now. The conversation at the high table stopped when Lord Varys tapped the Dragon Queen on her shoulder. She and her dark skinned advisor turned their heads towards them at the same time and the dark woman rose to her feet so quickly the chair she’d been sitting on fell over. She rounded the table and met them at the bottom of the dais.

“Bring him up, please”

They ended up laying him on the table. The man was unconscious but the barely there rise and fall of his chest was confirmation that he was still alive. It was the Dragon Queen who removed his helmet with trembling but gentle hands.

“Oh… Grey Worm” the dark skinned woman sobbed as she pressed her hands to his cheeks. The Wildling had turned to Jon as soon as he’d let go of the man.

“You mad crow, you fucking did it” he was about to slap Jon’s shoulder across the table but the look her sister gave him would have made a lesser man shit himself.

“No… Arya did” The Wildling turned to look at her with wide eyes and then he grinned and laughed. Arya frowned, the sound didn’t belong in the wake of so much death and pain, or maybe it did. Joy belonged to the living, didn’t it? Gendry looked at her and the want to ask her about it was clear as day in his eyes but her own pleaded with him not to. He had always been good at reading her so he didn’t. It had once frightened her how easily he saw through her careful mask before, now she was glad for it.

She finally grabbed him by his wrist and pulled him with her around the table, pushing him into one of the few empty chairs. She knew several eyes looked on in stunned curiosity. She hadn’t exactly kept her familiarity with the blacksmith secret, but she hadn’t told anyone about it either. If Arya had turned around she would’ve seen blue eyes meet brown.

“Arya I…” he’d said the same thing the night before and the numbness started to slip from her mind.

“Shut up. I’m going to fix you” she said as she fished out a piece of cloth from the cauldron with boiling water.

“As m’lady commands” clearly he was still stupid. It was reassuring really to hear him repeat the words he used to tease her. She had to use her dagger to cut away the remains of the fabric covering his legs. Arya cleaned the gashes on his legs and tried to decide if she should sew them shut or burn them. The latter was quicker but she’d been taught to only do it when she had no other choice. So she decided to sew the worst ones and simply wrap the other ones. Like Gilly had done for her.

She could still feel her siblings watching her as she worked. They’d want to ask questions about Gendry. How she knew him and why she tended to his injuries herself. He may have gone beyond the wall with Jon and her brother had said he liked the smith but not much more.

“Are you wounded anywhere else?” she asked as she got to her feet. He was so covered in blood and dirt it was hard to see if there were tears in the leather that was all he had for protection.

“Don’t think so” he mumbled and she huffed. He was so stupid. She started running her hands over his torso to feel for anything still bleeding and only stopped when she’d gone over every inch of him.

 

Arya had wanted to help bring any survivors inside but Sansa insisted she stayed inside. She’d told her that she was more useful if she helped the wounded brought in as she obviously had some skill in treating them. Gendry had gone out with Tormund again and they were joined by The Hound and Ser Davos. Samwell Tarly had arrived pale as snow under all the grime but he’d surprised Arya by how well-organized he was while sorting out a system for the infirmary. At first it had just been the women from the crypt trying to treat as many as possible. The Great Hall echoed with pain and the stink of dying men. Some who were brought in didn’t live very long and had to be dragged outside again to prevent rot from spreading.

As the sun rose higher in the sky the calm came over Winterfell. And then the sun was setting again and all that could be done for those who still drew breath had been done. Some would undoubtedly succumb to their wounds in the coming days, but for ow they lived. Sansa had taken Lady Brienne with her to inspect the storages. Bran, Jon, Ser Davos, The Dragon Queen, Lord Tyrion, Lord Varys and Jaime Lannister had gathered in the room they used for important but closed meetings to discuss their immediate actions and the coming war against Cersei.

Once darkness settled over the castle again, whoever was still in the courtyard was dead and so Jon ordered the search for survivors to end. They would have either died from their injuries of frozen to death. Arya wondered how they had all managed to stay awake for so long. But there had been so much to do that rest had had to wait. There were still things to be done, but not today.

She found Gendry slumped on the floor, his head resting against his knees. He looked up as she approached and she extended her hand towards him. He hesitated before taking it.

“M’lady” he said, his stupid mind must still have him convinced that she’s a Lady and that he should treat her as such.

“Don’t call me that” his mouth twisted into a half-smile but he still didn’t take her hand. He glanced toward the high table where her siblings had been sitting hours before. “If they object I’ll just have to remind them they owe me their lives” she said and he finally wrapped her hand in his. He got to his feet and she led him through the hall towards the gallery that would eventually take them to her bedchamber. Eyes had been on her all the time and all she wanted was to be alone with Gendry. He didn’t stare at her with the strange combination of fear, gratitude and worship.

The further away from the others they got, the easier she could breathe. As they made their way through the castle they remained silent. Arya wasn’t sure she could stay on her feet much longer when they stopped outside her door. She pushed it open and reluctantly let go of Gendry’s hand. She heard him push the door shut while her aching fingers started undoing her belt and laces. She dropped her jerkin to the floor and laid her dagger on the chest at the foot of her bed. She sat next to it to pull her boots of.

“You don’t plan to sleep in you armour do you?” her question startled him and he too started undressing. The last time they’d been taking their clothes off they’d been in the forge and she’d gotten to know what it was like to be as close as one could ever be to another person. This time there were no heated looks, no clashing of teeth and no hands desperately touching. As she pulled her undershirt over her head again she heard Gendry gasp. Her ribs protested the lifting of her arms and she supposed she was covered in bruises. She let the shirt land on the floor and looked down her torso. The bruise on her right side almost covered all of it. No wonder it hurt like the Seven Hells. She just raised an eyebrow at him even if it pulled on the stitched Gilly had carefully made. She pulled her own pants off and kicked them off her feet. Gendry had pulled his shirt over his head and was struggling to get his boots off. If she hadn’t been so tired she would’ve laughed at him.

She crawled under the furs and got as comfortable as she could. She hated sleeping on her back but it was the only way to not put pressure on her broken and cracked ribs. Gendry finally managed to get his boots and pants off and joined her. It was a tight fit, what with the bed not being meant for two people and Gendry being so stupidly big. It didn’t matter and both were asleep before either of them could say anything else.

 

Arya wasn’t sure for how long she had slept when she finally awoke. She could have slept for days. Gendry was still sleeping next to her and she finally managed to smile. He looked as he had when he slept on those sacks of grain in the forge. She had left him like that before the horns sounded. She wouldn’t leave him to wake alone now. Not when his warmth was so very pleasant after the unnatural cold the army of the dead had brought with them.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on her door and she groaned. She really didn’t want to return to the world outside just yet. But she was Arya Stark of Winterfell.

“Come in” she said loud enough for whoever was outside to hear her. She glanced at Gendry but he didn’t as much as stir. He’d always been able to sleep in the most horrid conditions. She turned her attention back to the person at her door and met Jon’s brown eyes. He looked first at her and then at the man sleeping next to her.

“People will talk, Arya” he told her and closed the door before sitting down in the chair at the window. “You two were seen leaving the Great Hall together” he added. Well, he always did have a talent for stating the obvious,

“Let them” she answered and half sat up in the bed so she could lean against the headboard. She made sure the furs covered her. She wasn’t Cersei Lannister, she didn’t _want_ her brother to see her naked flesh. He sighed and dragged a hand over his face. He was clean and a faint smell of soap reached her nostrils. She wanted to bathe too.

“How do you two know each other anyway?” Jon asked. At least he wasn’t asking her how she killed the Night King.

“After Joffrey had father’s head cut off we left King’s Landing together… A brother of the Nights’ Watch was recruiting and we went with him” she started and then swallowed. She hadn’t thought about that day in a long time. How Syrio had held the Goldcloaks off with just a wooden sword and how she’d found her way through the sewers under the Red Keep. “He knew who I was, he met with father and he planned to take me home to Winterfell” Yoren had taught her the first lesson of surviving. He’d cut her hair and called her boy. Once she’d started she couldn’t stop. She told Jon how she’d thought the Goldcloaks were after her and then her confusion as they had asked for Gendry. She told him how Yoren had died, and Lommy. She told him about her, Gendry and Hot Pie fleeing Harrenhall and her brief time as the cupbearer of Tywin Lannister. She even told him about Jaquen H’gar and the names she had given him. She told him about the brotherhood and how they sold Gendry to the Red Woman and Stannis Baratheon. Through it all his face paled and she felt guilty for it. She’d hoped she could remain Arya Underfoot to him, but she wouldn’t lie to him.

“You didn’t use needle just once or twice” he managed to get out and she shook her head. She’d used needle more than she cared to count after getting it back and she’d used other weapons to kill before and after too.

“The Hound found me when I was sneaking away from the Brotherhood” Jon’s eyes went impossibly wide and she chuckled. “He tried to take me to The Twins. He’d heard mother and Robb was there”

“You were at the Red Wedding?” he choked out and she nodded. “How did you survive that?”

“We were there when the fighting started in the camps outside the castle. I wanted to kill them all… and then I saw them parade Robb’s body around. They’d sewn his direwolf’s head to it” the memory flashed before her eyes and she pushed it away. “The Hound hit me so hard I passed out and somehow got us away before anyone could kill us” she hadn’t thanked him for that. Then she told him of how they’d made it to the Vale only to be told that Lady Lysa had died. Then they’d made their way through Westeros and The Hound and Lady Brienne had fought. He made a face when she told him she’d left him to die.

“Where did you go after all that?” she didn’t know how to tell him about Bravos and the House of Black and White. But she tried anyway.

“I got on a ship to Bravos and started training to be a Faceless Man” she wasn’t sure Jon knew what a Faceless Man was. “They taught me how to fight and kill… and take faces and make them my own” her bag with faces was still under the very bed she was laying in. Her brother visibly flinched at that. She couldn’t blame him. She could still clearly see her sister’s horrified face when she found the faces she’d stolen.

“I killed Meryn Trant without being ordered to and they punished me by taking my sight. I learned to fight even better then though…” the way the blindness had heightened her other senses had been useful while fighting the dead. The library had been so dark she could barely see her own hand in front of her. “I got my eyes back before I left” she studied Jon while he took it all in. He seemed to struggle to understand it all, or maybe he just struggled to understand that the sister he had once known was a stranger to him now.

“Then you came back to Westeros…”

“I did. I was going to go to King’s Landing and kill Cersei” Jon let out something between a laugh and a cough. “I had something else to do first though, I couldn’t let the Freys go unpunished for betraying Robb” she’d struggled to tell him about the other things but this was the hardest. How does one tell a brother how she fed Lord Walder his sons, cut his throat, stole his face and then poisoned the remaining male members of House Frey?

Jon waited while shifting in the chair. Arya hadn’t heard anything about a raven coming to Winterfell to inform them of the fate of House Frey. She hadn’t thought of what would become of the women she left alive but she was certain at least one of them would take charge.

“I snuck into the castle and found Black Walder and Lame Lothar, two of Walder Frey’s sons, and killed them” she swallowed and she couldn’t look at her brother when she continued, “I carved them up and went to the kitchen… I baked them into pies like in the stories Old Nan used to tell. Then I fed them to Lord Walder and when he asked where his sons were I told him they were already there” she closed her eyes and savoured the look he’d had on her face as he saw the toe in the pie. “I slit his throat and then I stole his face”

“Gods… Arya…” Jon sounded like he was in pain and Gendry stiffened beside her. She dared open her eyes to look down on him and his blue eyes met hers. Under the furs his hand found her knee and he gently rubbed it with his thumb. It was soothing and gave her the courage to carry on.

“When I became Lord Walder Frey I invited all the other Freys to a feast. I poisoned the wine and made a toast in their honour. I had to stop one of his daughters, maybe she was a granddaughter, from drinking too. They all died there” she let out a shaky breath as she waited for the two men to say something. Anything at all really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's always bothered me that there hasn't been a scene where the end of House Frey was addressed.


	3. A Truth More Terrifying Than Death

“I thought you died at the Red Wedding” Gendry’s voice shook a little as he squeezed her knee beneath the furs. She looked at him and she could see an old torment there. He’d been awake for most of her story and she hadn’t even noticed. Jon remained silent and she wanted to shake him by his shoulders. Realising her brother wouldn’t say anything about her tale, she decided to turn to practical matters.

“How long have we slept?” she would get up as soon as Jon left the room. He’d make a fuss if he saw the fresh wounds along with the old ones now. She would never willingly show them to him though.

“Almost a day” her brother told her and she nodded. It wasn’t as long as she had thought. “We’ve started building the funeral pyres. We’ll light them in the morning… you should be there”

“We will be there” she shifted a little and winced as her ribs protested the movement. “You know who Gendry is?”

“I told him when Ser Davos brought me to him” Gendry said as he started to sit up too. The furs slid from around his shoulders and she could see the bruising on them.

“Have you told anyone else who he is? I assume Ser Davos already knew” the thought of the Dragon Queen knowing made her throat tighten and her heart pound.

“No…” Jon looked at her like he didn’t understand why it would be a problem and Arya wanted to slap him. He was as thick as the man next to her.

“Good. Don’t” she got the words out around the lump in her throat and Gendry frowned.

“But… If she made me a trueborn…” he was so stupid.

“If she knows she will either have you executed to eliminate a threat to her claim or she’ll make you Lord of Storm’s End and expect you to be loyal to her” both the men in her chamber looked at her with confusion.

“She’d never execute him” Jon said with so much conviction it made Arya wonder if being dead had made him more stupid.

“Like she’d never burn anyone alive you mean. I heard what she did to the Tarlys” Jon flinched at that. “She could’ve taken them prisoner but she decided to turn them into ashes instead. I’m not taking any chances”

“But you and I could…” Gendry trailed off glancing at Jon, he looked like a skittish horse.

“We can anyway and anyone who says otherwise can fuck right off” she squared Jon with a look that left no room for argument. “And if you tell her, she’ll be dead before she can even begin to think about it” she added. She didn’t really want to threaten Jon that way but he trusted the Dragon Queen because he loved her.

“Arya, that’s treason” her brother said in a hushed tone.

“Won’t be if she’s dead” Arya countered. He still looked at her like she was wrong about his lover and Arya was starting to understand why Sansa didn’t trust him with all the information she gathered. He was too much like their father. It would be so easy to get away with murdering the Dragon Queen too. All she needed to do was wear another face and sneak in during the night.

“Fine” Jon finally agreed and though she didn’t show it, she was relieved. Gendry nodded but he didn’t look happy about it. Heis notion that he had to be a Lord to be with her was irritating and she’d thought they were past it. She’d been many things, but she had never been a Lady.

“I’m going to take a bath and then I’ll find Sansa. I’m sure she has work for all of us” Jon took her words for the dismissal that it was and quietly left her chamber. As soon as the door was shut Arya pushed the furs from her body and set her bare feet on the cold floor. She dressed in the britches and undershirt she’d worn during the battle and pulled on her boots. Gendry did the same.

“I want to be worthy of you” he finally admitted and she rolled her eyes. How could he not see that he already was? That she didn’t care about titles or castles or whatever else he thought he needed to have to be with her.

“Let me be the judge of that” she said and as she looked up at him she pulled him gently downwards by his neck. She had to make him understand. “My father told me I would marry a Lord and rule his castle, he told me that my sons would be fighters. But that’s not me. I’ve never been a Lady and never will be. If you become Lord of Storm’s End, I would not be your Lady. I belong here, in the North” she closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his even if it hurt. “You belong with me, we’re family. I want you to stay with me and you can’t do that if you’re Gendry Baratheon” she felt more vulnerable than she ever had. She felt more fear than she had even as the dead marched on Winterfell. She knew what to do with the dead and she didn’t fear the God of Death. But the possibility of losing Gendry again made her feel like the Night King still had her neck in his grip.

Gendry’s hands covered her own where they rested on his face and she felt him release a shaky breath. Something wet landed on her cheek and her eyes flew open. The bull-headed man was weeping silently. She didn’t know if she had it in her to weep again.

“As m’lady commands” his voice was thick and without the mirth that usually accompanied those words but it was enough. She softly pressed her lips to his before gently releasing his face.

“I meant it when I said I need a bath, and so do you” she turned to the chest where the dagger was still resting and she fastened it around her waist again. She hadn’t left her chamber unarmed since she arrived and before that she hadn’t even slept without a weapon within reach. She opened the lid that felt heavier than normally and dug out her pouch with herbs and vials of tinctures that she’d stolen along with the faces. The House of Black and White was primarily a place where one learned to inflict wounds, but they also taught how to treat them. A dead assassin would be of no use to the God of Death after all. She grabbed a clean undershirt and britches too. She’d no doubt be filthy again before the day was over but she didn’t want to be covered in the grime of the battle. She didn’t have anything that would fit Gendry so he’d have to make do until he could find something.

She grabbed him by the hand like she’d done when they left the Great Hall started down the gallery that would bring them down to the hot springs that were used by the Stark family. She hadn’t been there since she came back, opting instead to bathe in the tub Sansa used. They were both stiff and limping but not worse than the night before.

As they reached the bottom of the last couple of stairs she could see the familiar door. It brought back memories from the time she had been Arya Underfoot. Before King Robert had arrived and made her father his Hand. Her mother had washed her hair, telling her not to play in the mud and act like a proper Lady. Arya briefly wondered what her Lady mother would think of what she’d become. In some dark way she was relieved she hadn’t lived to see it. On the other hand, Arya would not be who she was now if her mother and Robb were still alive.

As they entered her eyes fell on a neatly folded set of clothes and linen to dry themselves with. Jon must have informed Sansa of their sister’s bedfellow. Next to the spring was soap and cloth for washing and clean linen for wrapping wounds. Her sister truly had thought of everything Arya had not. They undressed again, slightly easier than the night before. Sleep had done wonders for their exhausted bodies. The wrappings around their limbs were dirty but none of them had bled through.

Arya stepped into the water first and reached for the cloth and soap. She slowly started to scrub away the dried blood, sweat and mud that had found its way beneath her clothes and it coloured the spring brown and red before it cleared. Somehow the springs were always clear no matter how much dirt was thrown into them. When Arya stood on the bottom the water reached the underside of her breasts, when Gendry stood face to face with her it barely reached his ribs. He truly was senselessly tall, but it didn’t make her feel small.

She startled when he silently took the rag from her hands and pressed it to her face. His rough hands gentle when he traced her every feature. As if he wanted to burn every detail into his memory. Once Arya would have scoffed and mocked anyone who talked of moments like this. Now she understood it and she knew she would crave more of his touch. The threat she made when she’d been talking to Jon was very much one she intended to act on should the Dragon Queen find out who had sired the blacksmith. She would never harm Jon himself, he was her brother, but she could live with causing him grief.

The sudden sound of Gendry gasping in horror with eyes fixed on her throat med her come out of her reverie. It confused her at first but then she knew what he was looking at. She couldn’t feel the marks but she was sure The Night King had left his imprint, she supposed they’d look similar to the ones on Bran’s arm.

“They don’t hurt” she reassured him. She thought they would, but maybe the cause of them being no more had seen to that. She’d have to ask Bran about his at some later time. She held very still when Gendry brought his hand up and covered the pale skin with it. His hand was larger than The Night King’s and he could almost wrap it all around her neck. Had it been anyone else doing it, she’d have her dagger at their throat in a heartbeat. But Gendry was different, she trusted him, she always had. Even when he wanted to join the Brotherhood instead of coming to Winterfell with her, she had trusted him.

“How did you do it?” he finally asked and she went cold even in the hot water. Everyone would ask her as soon as they set foot outside the little space they had created for themselves. “I asked you to stay in the crypts” he laughed, as if he’d just now realised how stupid that would sound now. He slowly started washing her again.

“When I lost the staff you made me I had to run. I ended up in the library and then I had to run again. Beric Dondarrion and The Hound saved me when the dead had me pinned to the floor,” he nodded and his jaw was tight, “Beric sacrificed himself so we could get away. The Red Woman was in the room we barricaded ourselves in. She told me the same thing she told me when she took you away” Gendry’s head snapped up at the mention of the Priestess and she thought about what he’d told her before they had lain together.

“What’d she say?” he asked as he ran the cloth over her collarbones and shoulders.

“That she’d seen that I’d shut many eyes. Brown eyes, blue eyes and greed eyes” she’d killed many people and surely she had already slain people with all those eyes, but perhaps the Priestess’ prediction was more precise than just a sign of Arya becoming a killer. She supposed the Freys would be the brown eyes, The Night King and his army of the dead were the blue. That left the green… Cersei Lannister had green eyes. “She reminded me of what we say to the God of Death”

“What?” he furrowed his brows like he always did when he didn’t quite understand something.

“Not today” she smirked and he laughed. She had missed that sound and she hadn’t even realised it.

“What then?” he was cleaning her arms, continuing where she’d left off. His touch made it easier to tell him. It kept her in the present, reminded her that it was over and done with. Almost.

“I took off to the Godswood. The House of Black and White teaches how to move without making a sound, how to be unseen even by the keenest of senses. I almost got to him without any of his commanders noticing me” it had been terrifying how swiftly he’d turned and caught her in the air. “He grabbed the hand I held the dagger in so I dropped it, caught it with the other and thrust it through his heart… or the place where it would be if he had one… We’ll never find out since he shattered like glass”

“I used to think the worst that could happen would be to die in Flea Bottom” Gendry said as he grabbed the bar of soap to lather the cloth up again after rinsing it. He faltered as his hand hovered above her breasts. He looked uncertain before she nodded. It wouldn’t be the first time he touched them. When he did, none of the heat that had coursed through her in the forge came. There was no pleasure as his calloused hands brushed over her nipples. He didn’t linger longer than he had to and kept running the rag over her stomach, careful of the bruises. Neither of them said anything as he pulled her closer so he could wash her back. Lastly he gingerly lifted her onto the edge of the spring so he would get to her legs.

As he started on her legs she grabbed a second rag and the soap. It was much easier to reach his face now that she was sitting on the ledge and he stood at the bottom of the spring. She started with his scalp before moving onto his face. It was almost strange seeing his face so clean, more often than not it was covered in a layer of sweat and soot. He’d been clean when he brought her the staff and he’d smelled like soap when she crawled on top of him on the sacks of grain.

“What happened after the Red Woman put leeches on you?” she’d wanted to ask him for a while. They never got to the part where he’d somehow gotten away from his uncle and Melisandre. His hands on her calf stilled. His shoulders tensed but she kept running her own hands over them, washing away the remnants of the battle.

“After she got what she wanted she left and I was thrown in a cell” his hands resumed their work on her legs.

“How’d you get out?” she kept washing what she could reach of his back. She could only reach halfway down from where she sat.

“Ser Davos broke me out and brought me to a boat… then I rowed” there was a hint of amusement in his voice. “I rowed for a very long time before I got back to King’s Landing”

“Why’d you go there? Cersei wanted all of Robert’s bastards dead” she frowned. She’d have thought he’d try to get as far away from there as possible.

“Figured it was safest to hide right under their noses… besides, you told the Goldcloaks they’d already killed me” he looked up at her and the tenderness was almost too much.

“Turns out you’re not completely stupid,” she cupped his chin in her hand and then moved on to wash his broad chest, “what did you do then?”

“I got work in a smithy in Flea Bottom. I mostly waited for something to happen and then Ser Davos came and I went with him” he’d finished washing her and rested his hands on her hips as she kept on with her work.

“And then you went beyond the Wall with Jon?” she knew some of what had happened there. Jon hadn’t been very forthcoming about it and no one else would give her a straight answer. “What was it like? Being there?”

“I told you about the dead… and in any case you know now” she did know. Every man, woman and child in Winterfell knew.

“That wasn’t what I meant. What was it like north of the Wall?” she clarified and rinsed the rag. It would take much longer to get him clean than it had taken to get the grime off her.

“Cold and it was strange… I’d never even seen snow when I joined your brother” he said and idly ran his hands along her thighs.

“I’ll bet it was… travelling with Thoros of Myr, Beric Dondarrion, The Hound, Tormund and Jon” it was still strange to her that those who had been on her list had ended up saving her life and helped her brother convince the Dragon Queen that the threat beyond the Wall was real and not some kind of trick to lure her to her death.

She had gotten most of his front clean and got to work on his arms. She’d always liked them. They were strong and watching him in the forge had made something stir in her before she knew what it was to want another person, body and soul.

“I should’ve gone with you back then” he eventually said and the pain and regret was evident.

“We wouldn’t be where we are today if you did” she simply said. It was not comforting words, but it was the truth. She wouldn’t have gone to Bravos if Gendry had come with her. They’d probably have gotten themselves killed on the way to Winterfell. He didn’t say anything to that, he just rested his head against her sternum with his arms around and she in turn wrapped hers around him. They stayed like that for a while.

“You still need to wash” she mumbled into his scalp and grudgingly wiggled out of his embrace. Gingerly she slid into the water again and turned him around. She couldn’t see enough to wash the remaining filth off his back while still facing him. She set to work again in silence and as soon as she was done with his back he turned around again. Like he didn’t want to spend a moment too long without having her in his sight. She felt the same so she would not call him stupid for it. They worked together to clean his legs and once they were done she was starting to feel the heat get to her.

“Your hair” Gendry reminded her and she sighed. She’d been ready to get out of the water even if she never wanted to leave the springs. She ducked her head under the water as he lathered the soap so he could wash the matted mess on top of her head. It took three rinses to get everything out and she relished in the feel of his hands kneading her scalp and his fingers running through the tangles.

Both of them got out of the spring and helped the other dry off. Arya brought the pouch she’d taken with her and started unwrapping Gendry’s legs. The wounds didn’t look as bad as they had in the Great Hall, they’d still scar though. She found the right vial and poured the contents over the gashes before wrapping them up in fresh cloth. He’d grunted in discomfort but didn’t do much else. She handed him another vial and he dabbed it on the stitched up cut on her brow and then over the other ones that Gilly had helped her with. She still needed to find the woman to thank her properly.

She pulled on her britches and the undershirt before pulling on her boots again. As Gendry dressed in the clothes that had waited for them she realised that they must have belonged to her father. It was made of finer materials than that of a soldier or even a Master at Arms. The shirt was a bit loose and the britches a little short, but they fit well enough. He too put on his boots and they could no longer delay joining the other survivors again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we can all agree that episode 4 was a fucking mess.  
> I absolutely hate how they handled Gendry being legitimized and in less than a 5 minutes they ended one of the only truly beautiful relationships on the show. They sunk pretty much all the ships in the episode, figuratively and literally. 
> 
> and I know Sansa is gonna get shit for telling Tyrion who Jon really is, but holy fuck would the realm suffer under the rule of Daenerys such as she is now.
> 
> And l knew they'd kill either Grey Worm or Missandei (probably both) when they made plans to go to Naath.


	4. Where Do We Go From Here?

They stopped by Arya’s chamber to dress properly. Arya fastened needle at her hip but Gendry left had left his mace somewhere while carrying wounded into the Great Hall. The further they got from the Stark-quarters the more noise there was. Gendry let go of her hand before anyone could see them and she rolled her eyes but didn’t protest.  
There were still wounded being treated in the Great Hall but the bustling wasn’t as frantic and there weren’t as many screams of distress. Those who were well enough had been discharged it seemed. Arya spotted Gilly and Samwell Tarly quietly talking in a corner. Her brother’s friend rested one of his hands on the woman’s stomach and it brought a small smile to Arya’s lips. A new life after all the death would be a nice thing.  
“Do you know where my sister is?” she asked one of the women who was still helping with treating the wounded.  
“I think she’s in the Godswood, m’lady” the woman answered and looked at Arya with big round brown eyes. Arya didn’t like it one bit.  
“Thank you” she turned around again and Gendry quietly followed.

Sansa was indeed in the Godswood with Bran in his chair next to her. She looked almost like a statue, only wisps of her red hair dancing in the wind indicated that she hadn’t turned to stone. Gendry stopped and she turned to him with an arched brow.  
“I’m sure Jon has already told her he found you in my bed. Who do you think arranged for those clothes?” the look of panic crossing the man’s face amused her. He’d been afraid of the army of the dead, as everyone was, but he had not hesitated to fight them. Faced with her sister he looked like he wanted to run as far south as he could. Arya took his hand again and pulled him with her, though she had to pull harder now that some of his strength had returned.  
“Sansa” she greeted and her sister turned around quicker than Arya expected and embraced her again. This hug lasted a lot longer than the one they shared outside the crypts and though Arya’s ribs hurt as her sister held her closer, she didn’t mind.  
“Thank you, for what you did,” Sansa breathed, “I know you don’t want to hear it, but you saved us all” over her sister’s shoulder she met Bran’s eyes and he nodded with the slightest hint of a smile. It was the most emotion she’d seen from him since being reunited.  
Her sister finally released her from her hold and turned to Gendry whose discomfort was showing all over his face.  
“Despite you coming to Winterfell with Jon, we have not been properly introduced” Sansa said and glanced at Arya, “I am Sansa Stark”  
“I’m Gendry Waters, m’lady” Gendry was taut like a bowstring as he managed a bow.  
“Jon told me you two have known each other for a long time” Sansa’s tone was perfectly polite but Arya could hear the hard steel beneath. Sometimes she wondered at how Sansa could use her manners as a weapon. Every interaction her sister had had with the Dragon Queen would seem cordial to onlookers not privy to either woman’s personal thoughts, but Arya knew that the two had clashed constantly since the strangers arrived and expected them all to welcome them with eagerness. They had needed the army, they had needed the Dragons and they had needed the dragon glass to defeat the Night King. Arya respected and understood Jon’s decision to bend the knee for those things. But the Night King was gone and there was only Cersei to be dealt with now.  
“What did he tell you?”  
“That you left King’s Landing together and that he kept your secrets” Sansa was looking at Gendry like she would look at the inventories of Winterfell’s storages. It was a measuring that made Gendry squirm. “I want to thank you, Gendry Waters, for keeping my sister safe back then”  
“No need to thank me, m’lady” Gendry was blushing and Arya shared a look with her sister.  
“I won’t say anything about your sleeping arrangements or anything else. Arya will do as she pleases anyway, and if it pleases her to be with you that’s good enough for me” the way Sansa so casually said it shocked both Gendry and Arya. What she’d expected was for Sansa to, like Jon, be concerned about people talking.  
“He’s a bastard of Robert Baratheon” Bran stated and Arya wanted to curse him for telling her.  
“I see. Well… that could become a problem if the dragon Queen finds out” Sansa mused out loud and Arya breathed a sigh of relief. Finally someone saw what she saw. She supposed she shouldn’t have been so surprised.  
“She can’t find out, Sansa” by some instinct she placed herself in front of the blacksmith, as if she could shield him from any potential threat that way.  
“Of course not. No one will tell her” Sansa was pacing back and forth before them.  
“So what happens now?” Arya asked and she didn’t know if she was just asking about the matter of Gendry’s true identity.  
“Well… we still have to defeat Cersei. There’s a meeting about that after… after we light the pyres on the morrow,” her sister paused and clutched the silver dire wolf that decorated her dress, “We’ll have a feast in the evening to celebrate this victory… the Gods know the men need it. As long has she doesn’t find out before they march south, it will be fine”  
“Why won’t it be a problem?” Gendry cautiously asked and Arya had an inkling of what her sister meant.  
“Because she won’t be able to do anything about it on the march to another war. She’ll be too preoccupied with strategy meetings and preparing for battle to spend any thought on it. Much less do anything about it” Sansa paced faster and Arya was starting to realise the truly terrifying woman Sansa was. She knew her sister was clever, the cleverest person she’d ever met, but she hadn’t realised that Sansa wasn’t just a step or two ahead in the game.  
“What happens after?” she asked and Gendry was looking between the sisters as if he didn’t know what to make of them.  
“If Cersei wins the war, it will mean the Dragon Queen and her Dragon are dead. Possibly Jon too and then it won’t matter who Gendry is. If the Dragon Queen sits the Iron Throne, that is the true danger. Then she will need loyal Lords for all the castles and she’ll decide whether Gendry is more useful too her as Lord of Storm’s End than dead” Arya felt the larger man flinch beside her.  
“If she sits on the Iron Throne?” Arya didn’t know what her sister was planning but it seemed Sansa was thinking about something.  
“We have company” Bran said in that disturbing matter-of-fact way he had and Sansa quickly shut her mouth. Turning towards the entrance to the Godswood she saw Lady Brienne of Tarth approaching.  
“My Lady, Her Grace and your brother are looking for you” the big woman had a black eye and didn’t move as easily as she had but seemed mostly unscathed. Arya was glad that the woman had not fallen, she was the most loyal to Sansa and would protect her charge until she died.  
“I must go, we’ll talk more later” and with that Sansa left.

The morning was a sombre one. There were so many pyres Arya hadn’t bothered to count them. Jon had made a compelling speech and Arya was proud of him. She had half-expected the Dragon Queen to make it but that wouldn’t have gone over well with Sansa or the people of the North. She wasn’t one of them and though her people had fallen as well, it was not her place to make this one.  
Arya looked down on the man who had once been on her list. Beric Dondarrion was dead for good this time. He wasn’t going to come back. He’d given his life for her. As she put the torch to the dry wood making his pyre, she sent a silent prayer to the God of Death to receive him and let him be at peace. Sansa was crying as she said goodbye to Theon. Her sister who had been cold and stoic for most of the time back in Winterfell finally let the cloak of her title slip from her shoulders for just a moment. Arya did not doubt it would be back once they were inside the walls again. Jon lit the pyre of Lyanna Mormont, the Lady of Bear Island, who had killed the giant who took her life. If they had had the chance, Arya would have liked to get to know her.  
The smell of burning flesh was overwhelming but she would not flinch away from it. These men and women were the heroes. They’d laid down their lives for the sake of others. She kept watching as the smoke rose higher in the sky, great black clouds that eventually were scattered by the wind. If there was time they would all have stood there until the last flames went out, but there was no time.  
They were gathered in the War Room, as it had been dubbed. Arya herself didn’t say much but she listened and observed. The loss wasn’t as great as she had expected. The Dothraki were all gone, save for a handful who had come back after the flames of their swords went out. Half the Unsullied were dead and many were wounded. Half the soldiers from Winterfell were gone, most of the men from the Vale had survived and half the Free Folk had died. And of course the Iron Born. The Dragon Queen wanted to march south by the end of the week and Sansa wanted to wait to the end of the month. Jon surprised her by siding with the Queen and Arya’s blood boiled. It wasn’t just a stupid plan, it felt like a betrayal. Marching the army south in the state it was in was guaranteed to end in failure. She said nothing after Jon had made it final that they would heed whatever the Dragon Queen decided and that was that. If looks were enough to kill, both Sansa and the Dragon Queen would have lain lifeless on the floor.  
“We need a word” she said as she hindered Jon from leaving the room. He looked both confused and angry, he had never looked at her like that before and she knew it was because of the Dragon Queen. Arya suspected the woman didn’t love her brother nearly as much as she claimed. She and Sansa had had quiet conversations about it when her sister told her about the Dragon Queen’s attempt to persuade Sansa.

Arya and her remaining siblings, the last Starks, were standing beneath the Weirwood Tree with its ancient face. It was the safest place to talk. The Queen and her people stayed away from it. Bran was silent as ever, Sansa looked like she wanted to slap Jon across the face and Jon looked like he would prefer to have never been resurrected at all.  
“Why did you agree with her?” Sansa’s voice shook with barely contained rage.  
“Why do you keep provoking her?” Jon countered and it made Arya bristle.  
“Because Sansa cares about our people. Something your Queen clearly doesn’t. You heard her. She doesn’t see the people of the North as she sees those strangers” she’d been unhappy with the way Sansa sometimes spoke of their father and Robb when she returned to Winterfell but the more she understood Sansa, the more right she believed her to be.  
“She does…” Jon didn’t sound at all convinced of that and Sansa scoffed.  
“Not to mention it’s a rash plan. Cersei will already be prepared for us, she’s had months to prepare, and one more won’t make a difference to her” Sansa was clearly agitated and her careful mask was slipping.  
“Sansa’s right you know” Arya tried to catch Jon’s eye but he wouldn’t look at her.  
“We would be dead if it weren’t for her!” Jon was looking at Sansa as if he blamed her for the state of things.  
“Arya is the one that killed the Night King” Sansa countered and stepped closer to Jon, towering over him.  
“You did the right thing, we needed her army and her dragons. Now we have to do what’s right for the North, and us, again” Arya figured that acknowledging that would maybe make him understand.  
“I gave her my word, I pledged the North to her” he was just like their father. Honour mattering more than what was right.  
“And what if she gets all our people killed? She doesn’t care about their lives. Who do you think she will sacrifice in battle? Our people will be fodder for Cersei’s arrows while her people are kept as safe as possible” Sansa’s usually pristinely white face had a red flush of anger on it.  
“She won’t” He said lamely and looked to Bran for some sort of support. The three-eyed raven only stared back.  
“Why is she so determined to march so soon? There must be something going on” Jon looked startled by Sansa’s statement.  
“There’s something I have to tell you,” Jon looked as uncomfortable as he ever had, “but you have to swear not to tell anyone”  
“How can I swear it, if I don’t know what it is?” Sansa was playing with words, she was trying to make Jon say it without having had her swear to secrecy. It didn’t work.  
“I swear it” Arya said as she waited with a baited breath.  
“Fine… swear it” Sansa mumbled and Arya noted the exclusion of I, Jon evidently didn’t.  
“Tell them” Jon was looking at Bran again.  
“Jon isn’t our brother” Bran began and Arya frowned, when would they stop insisting that? He might not be trueborn but that didn’t make him any less of a brother than Robb or Rickon had been.  
“What do you mean?” Sansa asked, a hint of impatience.  
“He’s our cousin, the trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark” Arya’s brows raised of their own accord and Sansa gasped.  
“How is that even possible?” Sansa asked and Arya could see her mind working to make sense of it all.  
“Rhaegar didn’t kidnap Lyanna. They were married in secret, Samwell Tarly found the almanac of the maester who performed the ceremony. When Rhaegar died on the trident, Lyanna was giving birth. She made our father, Eddard Stark, swear to protect her son before she died” Bran didn’t show any sentiment as he told them and in a way it made it easier to bear.  
“My real name is Aegon Targaryen” Jon admitted as he looked at the ground.  
“You’re the rightful heir to the Iron Throne,” Sansa said in a hushed voice and Arya’s eyes snapped to her, “That’s why she wants to march so soon. Before anyone can find out”  
“I am not the heir,” Jon weakly insisted, “I don’t want it!”  
“It doesn’t matter what you want! You are the rightful King and you would make a better ruler than she could ever hope to be!” Arya kept silent as her sister desperately tried to convince Jon that he should be the one on the throne, not his… aunt. She felt bile rise in her throat as she realised that Jon had been fucking his aunt the whole time.  
“I won’t challenge her” Jon said and that was the last of their conversation as he stormed away from them.  
“This changes everything” Sansa quietly said and eyes blue like sapphires met stormy grey.  
“It changes nothing if he doesn’t do anything about it” she muttered and looked at the black shape of her brother – cousin – leaving the Godswood.  
“He doesn’t have to do anything. One of the many lessons Little Finger taught me is that information is power. All you need to do is whisper in the right ear and it will take a life of its own” Arya sometimes managed to forget where Sansa had learned her skills from. At first it had disturbed her how her sister seemed to be a combination of Cersei, Tyrion Lannister and Little Finger, but she’d come to realise there was also so much of their mother and father left in her sister that it didn’t matter. Not to Arya anyway.  
“You swore not to tell anyone” Arya reminded her sister.  
“I swore that to Jon Snow, our brother, not Aegon Targaryen, our cousin” Sansa answered with a small smile. “Jon Snow doesn’t exist anymore”  
“What are you going to do?” Arya was at once impressed and apprehensive.  
“I haven’t decided yet. But you should know that this could turn out to work in you and your blacksmith’s favour” her sister apparently didn’t have more to say on the subject at the moment and left Arya with Bran. Being alone in the Godswood with the three-eyed raven reminded her too much of what happened two nights before and she quickly started to push his chair towards the castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've used parts of episode 4 for this one. I know why they didn't show the conversation the Starks had in the Godswood to make a greater impact when Sansa told Tyrion and eventually the conversation between Varys and Tyrion. But I still would've liked to see it.
> 
> I'm not sure I'm completely happy with this chapter but I couldn't get it out of my head.


	5. Toasts Are Made Of Veiled Threats

The feast was threatening to make Arya wish she had not survived the battle against the dead. She was sitting to Sansa’s left at the high table and the Great Hall had been restored to its original purpose. The wounded and dying had been moved to the actual infirmary once Samwell Tarly had deemed them well enough to move. Jon was seated at the centre of the table with Sansa and Dany on either side of him. How he wasn’t suffocated by the tension between them, Arya would never know. Or perhaps Jon had just had too much to drink and didn’t even notice it.

The one thing that kept Arya from leaving the table and the feast altogether was that she had promised Sansa to be there. Her sister had pointed out that if she had to suffer through it as Lady of Winterfell then the Bringer of the Dawn did too. It also helped that she could see Gendry in the crowd, sitting opposite The Hound who looked as miserable as Arya felt.

Tormund Giantsbane had quite a few men enthralled by his telling of how Jon had risen from the dead and kept fighting. Arya didn’t really pay it any mind since she was so on edge. She knew Jon had had a private audience with the Dragon Queen before and she didn’t know if she trusted him to keep Gendry’s parentage secret from her even if he had sworn to do so. Her attention kept moving from her sister, to Jon – Aegon Targaryen, to the Dragon Queen, to Gendry and then back again.

“To the Dragon Queen!” Tormund roared and everyone in the hall echoed the toast. A roar of laughter went through the room as the Wildling downed an entire horn of ale in one go. Arya could admit she too was impressed by such a feat.

“To Arya Stark, the hero of Winterfell” the Dragon Queen herself toasted and another roar, louder this time, echoed. Arya did not miss the way the woman’s face twitched as she too noted the difference. Somehow, the toast made by the self-proclaimed Queen sounded like a warning. Did the Queen expect her to be loyal to her because she had just made a toast in her honour? If that was the case she wasn’t nearly as clever as Tyrion Lannister claimed she was. At least the Dragon Queen wasn’t looking at Gendry. A promising sign that Jon – Aegon – had kept his promise so far. She had after all said that if he did tell her, Arya would kill the woman before she could even think about doing anything about it. Killing the Dragon Queen now would cause more problems than it would solve.

She glanced at her sister who was quietly observing everything going on. Sansa might have looked like she was enjoying the feast like everyone else, but Arya knew that she was memorising who sat with whom, who smiled at whom, who left arm in arm with whom and she was especially paying close attention to the woman sitting on Jon’s – Aegon’s – other side. Arya allowed herself to relax only slightly and drank her own ale. She’d been offered wine from the Dragon Queen’s own pitcher but she had declined stating she preferred a northern ale to the sweet wine from across the sea. She had not missed the way both Jon – Aegon – and the Dragon Queen had looked at her when she did. Arya knew it was a brush-off, and they did too. Perhaps it had been unwise but it had gotten Sansa to smile.

As the feast went on and the required toasts had been made several times over, Arya grew more anxious. It was too loud, she hated having to smile when more people one more drunk than the previous toasted her, she wanted to be alone with the ones that mattered to her and she couldn’t shake the disquiet that squeezed her heart every time the Dragon Queen let her eyes roam over the men and women who’d been offered a place in the Hall instead of in the tents outside. She wasn’t familiar with this feeling. She’d been afraid before, she’d been afraid when the Goldcloaks had come for them on the King’s Road, she’d been afraid at Harrenhal, she’d been afraid when the House of Black and White had taken her sight, she’d been afraid when the waif chased her through the streets of Braavos and she’d been terrified when the dead chased her through her home. But all those times she’d known what to do, there was only survival and she knew what to say to the God of Death. She didn’t know what to do about this looming threat in the form of a woman her brother – cousin – loved and promised would be a good queen.

To distract herself from the dark cloud hanging over her head she observed the odd constellations of people that enjoyed life. Jon was surrounded by a group of Wildlings along with Tormund Giantsbane, their roaring laughter echoing against the walls. Sansa sat with The Hound which amazed Arya. Her sister had occasionally mentioned that the scarred man had protected her in his own way when she was a hostage of the Lannisters but she hadn’t thought much of it. The sight of the twisted face perpetually frowning or glaring lighting up in a genuine laugh was almost as unsettling as the dead marching on Winterfell. Gendry was sitting with Davos and another smith. Jon had insisted that all the smiths be invited into the hall since they’d performed a miracle by managing to forge dragon glass into weapons in such a short time. She decided that as soon as she could, she would leave the hall and take Gendry with her. At least Jon wouldn’t have a moment alone with his queen for the time being.

No one approached her where she sat, it was as if there was an invisible wall between her and the rest. No one approached the Dragon Queen either. Arya might have said the other woman who hadn’t moved from her seat all evening, except to make a toast in Arya’s honour, looked lonely. The Northerners were grateful for the help they’d received from the strangers from across the sea, but they did not trust them. The distrust was still there, there were many old enough to remember the days of the Mad King and how he’d burned their liege lord and his son alive when they went to King’s Landing. The fact that their Lady of Winterfell was cold and distrustful didn’t ease the matter. The North always remembered.

When the Great Hall was almost empty Arya decided she could leave without Sansa reprimanding her for it. As she rose most eyes turned to her, except those too drunk to notice anything anymore. Sansa was engaged in conversation with The Hound again and Jon was seated opposite Gendry, next to Ser Davos. Before leaving the high table she glanced at the Dragon Queen who almost sullenly drank her sweet wine. As she walked down the narrow space between the tables she tried to ignore the eyes that followed her, but still, no one approached her.

She laid a hand softly on Gendry’s shoulder when she reached the three men sitting together with an almost empty pitcher between them. When blue eyes met hers they lit up with a warmth that would have made her blush if she was the sort to do that. Jon didn’t look that pleased with the open intimacy and Ser Davos almost choked on his wine. It seemed he hadn’t heard the rumours that were undoubtedly going around already. Nothing travelled as fast as gossip. Gendry seemed to understand her and a gracelessly got up from his seat and almost caught his foot on the bench. Jon’s face twisted into a scowl, one that would have scared most men into abandoning the tiniest thought of pursuing Lord Snow’s little sister. Arya rolled her eyes and grabbed the blacksmith by the hand.

“Remember what you promised me, _Jon_ ” she emphasised the name that had protected his true identity for years. If he broke his oath to her, she would do what she promised in turn. Reminding him every now and then would be necessary. She had to keep Gendry from tripping over his own feet on the way out and hoped the cold air outside would clear at least some of the fog made of wine and ale. She nodded at Sansa when her sister caught her eye and rolled her eyes at the subtle raise of a red eyebrow.

 

The quiet of Arya’s bedchamber was comforting. That they’d gotten through the feast without having anything terrible happen was a small victory for Arya. The previous feasts she’d attended all ended in bloodshed. As she undressed she felt Gendry’s gaze following her, the moonlight coming in from the window cast ghostly hue over the room.

“’s like you’re glowing” Gendry slurred and she sighed. Despite her best efforts, those being her dunking his head in a bucket of water, the man was still drunk. Not as drunk as he had been, but it seemed like he’d downed an entire barrel of wine by himself. She’d never understood why men insisted on getting blind on drink after battle. He almost fell over as he was trying to get his boot off and she caught him just in time. Were they not both still in such a bad state, with bruises and hurting ribs, she would’ve let him make the floor a closer acquaintance.

“Be careful you stupid bull” she huffed and twisted out of his grasp.

“As m’lady commands” his breath hit her face and she grimaced.

“Don’t call me that” she said, more out of habit than any true aggravation. The familiar banter was welcome when you’d killed something that had been dead for thousands of years only to rise again and try to end the world.

“You’re beautiful…” no one had called her that, ever, and the one who just did had seen her scars and knew what she’d done. Arya had always prided herself of being above flattery and yet the words warmed her. Had anyone but Gendry told her she was beautiful she’d have suspected some ulterior motives, but Gendry had never been able to lie, much less lie to her. He’d tried, when she asked if he’d been with a woman before, and she’d seen right through him. Much like he saw through her careful mask most of the time.

“Shut up” she snapped and he laughed.

“As you wish, m’lady” the man was infuriating sober and drunk he was proving to be almost insufferable. She didn’t dignify it with further response as she started unbuckling his belt and divested him of his clothing. Her patience was running thin and she didn’t actually need to hold back. She’d save her restraint for another time. As he made himself comfortable under the furs in what she found herself calling t _heir_ bed, she got out of her own clothes. He had a stupid smile on his face as she stood naked as her name day in the middle of the chamber. Arya would never admit it out loud but nestling into the crook of his arm, feeling the warmth of his body, made her feel more at home than hugging Jon under the Weirwood tree had.

 

The following days were a frenzy of activity. More meetings had been held in the War Room and more attempts to delay the march south had been made by both Sansa and Lord Tyrion. The Dragon Queen’s ire was apparent and Jon kept deferring to her in everything. It made bile rise in Arya’s throat to see Jon be so… subservient. He was a more experience commander than all her advisors combined. Lord Tyrion was clever, the whole realm knew, but he was no battle strategist. Lord Varys was a slippery man and how he knew some things would never be clear, but he didn’t know much about planning an attack on one of the most fortified keeps in the Seven Kingdoms. Grey Worm, the Unsullied captain, was a skilled fighter but had been taught to follow orders, not give them. Missandei was a fucking interpreter. Arya hadn’t known Ser Jorah Mormont at all but Jon had told her that he’d been an admirable warrior. Daenerys Targaryen refused to listen to sound counsel and there was more than a little grumbling among the commanders of the North. The Dragon Queen might know about it but with her precarious hold on the North depending solely on the support of Jon likely kept her from acting out against anyone.

Gendry usually slept in her bed and it was no secret to any man, woman or child in Winterfell, which suited Arya just fine even if he felt it was inappropriate. Sansa had candidly pointed out that Gendry being so openly close to the hero who ended the Long Night was at least some protection against the Dragon Queen. If a move that could be perceived to be against the saviour of the realm, it wouldn’t matter that the woman had two dragons. Gendry spent most of his time in the forge as he had before the battle against the dead, it was almost like they hadn’t been on the brink of annihilation only a few days before. The dragon glass had been abandoned in favour of steel and the ringing echoed between the remaining walls of the courtyard. Arya watched from a shadowy corner when she wasn’t training with the soldiers. No matter how stealthy she tried to be, he always seemed to know when she was watching. A smile would tug on the corners of his lips. It was unnerving, really, since she had successfully snuck up on Jon in the Godswood and then almost remained undetected again when it was full of White Walkers.

The preparations for the inevitable departure came along slowly, too slow for the Dragon Queen, but surely. Sansa had commented that with the heavy losses they’d suffered made it easier to make provisions for everyone. The tone her sister had employed told Arya all she needed to know. The Lady of Winterfell took every lost life of a Northerner personally. It was like her sister had engraved every name on her very soul and carried them with her. Arya had not spoken to Jon since the feast but she’d met his eyes across the room and courtyard a few times, each time he averted his gaze. She didn’t know how to mend the rift that had opened between them with his confession of who he was. Perhaps she was unfair to him, he could not choose his parents any more than she could, but she felt like Jon was turning his back on the family that had raised him for one he’d never known, for a woman who would burn men alive simply because they didn’t immediately bend the knee to her.

The unnatural cold that had come with the Night King been replaced with a milder one. It was still winter and the snow came down and covered the ground with a pristine layer of white every morning. Seeing the white was easier than seeing the red stains that served as a constant reminder of their fallen friends.

Arya was sparring with The Hound and they had gathered an audience. The old man was brutal and fought like his life depended on it. The men and women watching gasped when steel met steel and sang. Sandor Clegane had had little patience for what Syrio Forel had taught her so long ago and still spat at the mention of water dancing. As far as the scarred man was concerned, the only thing that mattered was that whichever cunt you were fighting died. Arya was prepared to agree with that.

Before long they were panting and stopped trading insults. They were both still recovering from various injuries. The Hound favoured one leg over the other and Arya’s ribs were loudly announcing their discomfort with the strain. When she’d fought Brienne of Tarth, they’d been evenly matched once the big woman had stopped holding back. Arya had quickly realised that sparring with the man whom she’d travelled with was altogether different. The Hound didn’t spar, he fought. He didn’t practice for fights, he fought her like he actually tried to kill her. Arya did the same.

Eventually their fight came to an end when both laid flat on their backs in the mud. Arya couldn’t say how long they’d been at it, but it had felt good to unleash the pent up fury she’d supressed since the Dragon Queen arrived with Jon.

“You’re one terrifying bitch” The Hound ground out and Arya smirked. It was an oddly proud moment to hear such a comment from the man who feared nothing but fire. She wasn’t going to examine the feeling closer.

“You’re still decent for an old dog” she fired back and laughed. The crowd around them were exchanging looks. She supposed the two of them must appear queer, the former sworn shield to Joffrey and the daughter of Eddard Stark exchanging insults while sparring like they tried to kill each other.

“That blacksmith o’ yours,” Arya quickly masked the surprise the words caused, “looks an awful lot like the fat Baratheon king… swings a hammer like him too” Arya’s blood ran cold and then hot.

“He does not” the look he gave her was one that clearly didn’t believe her.

“You don’t want anyone to know ‘bout it” it was a statement, not a question.

“Tell anyone and I’ll kill you this time” she simply said and glared at him when he laughed.

“The Dragon bitch’ll find out eventually. Tha’ brother o’ yours won’t keep it a secret for long” the truth of his words stung. On the other hand it was as close to him swearing to keep the secret she was gonna get.

 

The night before the departure Arya sat with Sansa in the chamber that had once belonged to their parents. Sansa would remain in Winterfell, Brienne staying behind as her shield. The fire crackled and they were both staring into it, perhaps hoping to see a glimpse of the future, like the Red Woman had.

“I’m going to kill Cersei” Arya eventually stated and her fingers sought out the handle of the dagger at her hip. If she could choose, she’d drive the dagger meant for Bran through the heart of the Lannister bitch.

“I wish I could be there to see it” Sansa answered and Arya believed her. Sansa probably hated Cersei more than anyone in the realm.

“If I return, I’ll tell you all about it” she wasn’t going to pretend there wasn’t a possibility that she could die in this battle. Would be an awful shame though, to kill the King of the dead only to fall against a _Lannister_.

“You will return” Sansa’s voice was even and full of conviction.

“How do you know?” she sipped on the vile tincture Samwell Tarly had given her to speed up her healing.

“The worst ones always do” in another life Arya would have taken it as an insult. Now it sounded almost like praise.

“If I don’t return… promise me you’ll protect him” It had been strange, to care for someone else so much, someone who wasn’t her sibling.

“You will return, but I promise I will do everything I can” Sansa’s fingers closed over her own and they sat in silence for a while before Arya returned to her own chamber where Gendry slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how much time has passed in the show between the battle against the dead and the march south but in this fic it's about 10 days (give or take one or two).  
> It pissed me off so much how Jon, who has fought many battles and know that preparation is key, would bend to Dany's demands of basically marching pronto. It resulted in Rhaegal and Missandei dying so... this is an instance where I'd love to tell her "I told you so"


	6. It Is A Long Way To King's Landing

Arya was riding between Gendry and The Hound and it earned looks. The expectation had been that the younger Lady Stark would ride with her brother, judging by the few whispers she had overheard. She didn’t pay it any mind. The journey was going to be miserable enough as it was, she felt no need to make it worse. The goodbyes had been brief in the courtyard and frosty. Sansa had stiffly wished the Dragon Queen good fortune and whispered something to Jon that Arya couldn’t hear. Jon had bidden farewell to the silver haired woman he loved before she climbed onto her dragon and lifted off. The truly terrible plan was that Daenerys Targaryen, her council and a smaller part of her army of Unsullied would march ahead to Dragonstone and Jon along with the remaining men would follow shortly. Sansa, Varys and Lord Tyrion had tried to convince the Dragon Queen to send scouts ahead, she had not listened. Cersei would have had every opportunity to arrange for an ambush anywhere along the way.

“That cunt’s going to get us all killed” The Hound took a large gulp of the wine in his sac. Arya said nothing but agreed and Gendry fidgeted in his seat. He was still not comfortable with the animosity against the Dragon Queen. At least he hadn’t gone and done anything stupid. Yet.

Not much could be heard on the King’s Road, other than the thousands of feet marching forward. The confusion had been clear as a blue summer sky among the men when Jon had informed them that they would go off to the next war within days of defeating the dead. No one would defy him openly, but there would be talk in the camps the further south they got. She’d heard one young man say that at least they’d die someplace warm if they died in the battle to come. The Free Folk had gone north so the army was even smaller than it might have been. Jon had sent his dire wolf, Ghost, with them. Jon claimed he would be happier there and maybe he would. Arya had after all met Nymeria in the Wolfswood, her old friend having a new pack of her own. A twinge of sorrow tugged at her heart at the thought of her old friend. The irony that the young Arya Stark had named her wolf after an ancestor of the Dragon Queen she’d come to dislike was not lost on her.

 

They rode for hours and made camp in the Barrowlands, they would reach Moat Cailin in two or three days, depending on how fast the battle-weary men could march. At least they wouldn’t encounter any trouble until after they passed The Trident. Sansa had received word from the Vale that they were loyal and would ensure the safety of their passage to the best of their abilities. Most of the men of the Vale were marching south with them from Winterfell but after the Battle of the Bastards a small portion had returned to The Eyrie to keep it out of Lannister claws.

She’d been offered her own tent next to Jon’s but she preferred to share one with the men. She was no Lady and no Commander, she would not be treated like one. She’d laid her blankets next to Gendry’s and that had been that. Jon had grumbled, Ser Davos had sputtered, Gendry had done a fine imitation of a fish and The Hound laughed at them all.

Arya, Gendry, The Hound and three soldiers named Hallis, Benjen and Jory were huddled around their fire when Ser Davos cam to find her.

“Your brother wishes to speak with you, my Lady” he bowed and Arya had to stifle the irritation. Why was it that most men had such difficulty understanding that she wasn’t a Lady, had never been one and wouldn’t ever be turned into one? She stood up and brushed off the dirt that had gotten stuck to her britches and followed the man.

“Save some of that ale for me” she told her companions and Jory, who was the youngest and most reckless of them, told her they could promise no such thing.

Ser Davos gave the impression that he wanted to ask her something when they were walking towards Jon’s tent side by side, but he never did. She liked the man, he’d saved Gendry, as Sansa told it he was a good advisor and friend too.

“My Lord” Davos greeted Jon as he held the tent open for her. Arya schooled her face into blank indifference and waited for Jon to say what he had to say. The old man left quietly, leaving the two of them to talk in private.

“Arya I…” Jon looked at her with beseeching brown eyes. He didn’t know how to bridge the gap between them either.

“Fancy tent you got” she couldn’t resist the temptation of mocking it, it was larger than necessary and by the look on Jon’s face he didn’t like it much either.

“Have to at least appear to be the Warden of the North” he muttered and sank down in a pile of furs. Arya sat down cross-legged, facing him.

“The people of the North still see you as their King. They don’t know how to address you now” the number of men who’d stumbled over his titles had amused her at first but it also told of the uncertainty they were all facing.

“I never wanted to be King” she’d heard him say it so many times. He’d likely said it as many times as she’d said she’s not a Lady.

“I know, but they chose you because they believe you’re the right man” the words likely wouldn’t have any more effect on him than any of the other times he’d heard them.

“She’ll be a good queen, you just have to give her a chance” he was pleading with her and she knew he only wanted to do what was right and honourable.

“I don’t trust her. She thinks nothing of sacrificing northern lives so long as she sits on that throne in the end. You gave your crown up to protect those lives and now she’s throwing them away like they mean nothing” Jon winced as she let some of her anger loose. She was careful to keep her voice down though, one never knew who was listening after all.

“She loves her people, you’ve seen that” Arya had seen that, but she didn’t think the Dragon Queen thought of the Northerners as her people. She knew Jon wouldn’t hear it so she changed the subject.

“You know this march is stupid so why didn’t you try to convince her to wait?” the question had resulted in lost sleep since that first meeting.

“She was right. Every delay would give Cersei more time to prepare” something in her brother’s eyes made Arya think he wasn’t completely truthful, maybe not even to himself.

“That’s horseshit and you know it” the way his face fell elicited a small amount of pity for him.

“What was I supposed to do? She wouldn’t hear of any delays. Ever since I told her what Sam told me in the crypts… she’s been different” the admission must have hurt, he couldn’t meet her eyes.

“Well that should have been bloody obvious before you told her,” her brother shrugged and the sigh he let out sounded like he was carrying the sky on his shoulders. “You’ll always be my brother, Jon”

“Really? You’ve been avoiding me like grey scale since I told you” it was true that she had.

“I know… but you seemed to be eager to get rid of everything that made you a Stark” she countered and it was her turn to avoid meeting his eyes.

“I… I never was a Stark” he stubbornly told her and the tight coil inside her snapped.

“Theon didn’t need a drop of Stark blood running through his veins to be one” she didn’t have any warm feelings towards the boy who’d been her father’s ward, but he had died to protect their home, and that was all that mattered in the end.

“That was different” he was looking at his feet when he said it. It reminded Arya of when Lady Catelyn had caught her lying when she was little. Her Lady mother had sighed and mused that all her children looked at their feet when they were telling fibs.

“I don’t care what your name is. You’ll always be my brother. Just don’t forget that” her voice took on a softer tone, like it had in the Godswood when they met for the first time in so many years.

“I won’t” he vowed and the air seemed to get a little easier to breathe.

“I suppose we’ll have to wait and see what happens after this war” she fingered the hilt of the dagger.

“Suppose we do… so… you and Gendry” she snapped her head up and narrowed her eyes. He was sounding a lot like her older brother again.

“What about us?” she prompted and she saw his mouth twitch.

“You love him?” he asked and she froze. She hadn’t named what she felt for the blacksmith, she hadn’t felt the need.

“I don’t know…” she swallowed and folded her hands in her lap, “I felt nothing but anger and hate for so long… he makes me feel something warmer… he did even when we travelled along the King’s Road after father…” she didn’t know how to do this part. For years there had been nothing but cold fury in her heart, nothing but eliminating the names on her list mattered, and then he rode into her life again and woke something inside her again.

“He’s a good man” Arya was grateful he didn’t push the question further. She wasn’t sure she could answer it yet. Didn’t know if she wanted to, not when it was still unlikely they’d have a chance to have a life together.

“We should get some sleep. There’s still a long way to King’s Landing” she rose and he followed suit, they hesitated but hugged tightly before she left the tent to re-join Gendry.

 

When she woke up she was enveloped in the familiar warmth of Gendry’s body. The Hound was snoring on her other side and the strangeness of it all made her want to laugh. Fate had an unexpected sense of absurdity. Gendry shifted and accidentally squeezed her middle a little too hard. Her groan of pain woke him up and though he was still half asleep he managed to apologise. They’d been through it before, her bed didn’t allow for much space and sometimes in sleep one of their limps would push against a sore spot.

The camp soon filled with the clamour of armour and weapons being donned, the hiss of fires being put out, the clatter of wood when tents were dismantled and the voices of horses and men preparing to depart. The Unsullied were the first to assemble and stood still as the statues in Winterfell’s crypts while they waited for the rest to follow.

“I’ll make you another staff when come back to Winterfell” Gendry told her when they were riding along the King’s Road again. She didn’t tell him he could do that _if_ they returned. Most of the time Arya didn’t know if his hopefulness was a product of his stupidity or sheer willpower. She wouldn’t plant seeds of doubt in him now, not when they’d survived the dead.

“I look forward to it” his eyes crinkled when he smiled and Arya pushed her own dread down before it could come out of her mouth like bile. The Dragon Queen called this the last war, only a fool would believe it truly was. It may be the last war in their lifetime, but the future would surely be cursed with the same folly that had started the War of the Five Kings, Robert’s Rebellion and every other that had come before. As long as man held ambition in their hearts, there would be wars. At least another war would mean she’d have the opportunity to put Gendry’s creations to the test. As long as they lived through this one.

 

Each day on the road was the same as the one before, only it got warmer the further south they got. They’d made it to the Riverlands in good time, one more day and they’d reach the Croassroad and the Crossroad’s Inn. Gendry had almost spat his ale out when she told him she’d met Hot Pie on her way north. She hoped he was still there. If they survived maybe she could convince the cheery man to come north and take command of the shambles that were the kitchens at Winterfell. It would also be good to have him for company if she was completely honest.

As they made camp she caught sight of Ser Davos running toward Jon, the look on his face informed Arya that whatever he needed to tell her brother, wasn’t good. She made an excuse to leave the men she shared a tent with to set it up and made her way to the two men who were now exchanging troubled looks.

“What happened?” she demanded as she reached them.

“Daenerys was ambushed by Euron Greyjoy’s fleet at Dragonstone” Jon sounded hollow and like he wanted nothing more than to get on his horse and ride to her at breakneck speed.

“And?” she turned to Ser Davos as he wasn’t in as much turmoil as her brother.

“Many ships were destroyed… Missandei was captured…” Ser Davos spoke slowly, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was saying.

“They shot Rhaegal down, Arya” her brother flatly stated, he almost sounded like Bran.

“How?” she wondered out loud. She knew dragons could be killed, anyone could be killed, but she didn’t know how Euron Greyjoy had managed it. The Night King killing one of the dragons and then raising it as one of his army, she could understand. He was death itself. Euron Greyjoy on the other hand was a man of ordinary flesh and blood.

“The way Varys tells it, all ships had a scorpion on deck. Like the one they tried to shoot Drogon down with… They shot Rhaegal in mid-flight. He was injured… his wing hadn’t healed…” Jon’s voice almost broke and Arya supposed he’d come to love that dragon as much as he had loved Ghost.

“The Dragon Queen?” she pressed on, there was no time to linger on grief, and there was no time for comforting words.

“She escaped unscathed with Drogon. They’ve retreated to Dragonstone again and plan to demand the release of Missandei” Ser Davos, for once, was at a loss for words.

“Cersei will never agree to it. Cersei would rather let the whole of King’s Landing burn than surrender an inch” Sansa had told her that Cersei Lannister loved two things in life, her children and power.

“Lord Tyrion seems to think there’s a chance” Ser Davos didn’t sound like he believed it, but he hoped there could be one.

“Sansa was right about Rickon being lost to us… I didn’t want to see it, but she was right then… She was right that Ramsey would use him as bait and I fell right into it… And Rickon died…” Jon’s voice was thick with held back tears and Arya closed her eyes. She hadn’t really thought of Rickon at all. She’d been so convinced he’d been long dead that being told he’d died only a few weeks before she arrived didn’t cause any great sorrow. She’d already mourned him.

“Are you saying Missandei is lost then?” Ser Davos asked and it seemed the thought distressed him greatly.

“Yes” was Jon’s short answer and he looked at Arya with something she couldn’t quite place. Regret perhaps?

“Is our plan still to join King’s Landing?” turning to practical matters, things one could control, always calmed the mind. Or at least it was a distraction.

“Yes,” he said again and turned away from her, “we should have waited”

“Too late to change now” Arya told his retreating back and Ser Davos bowed before following.

 

“Only one of those fire-breathing monsters then” The Hound growled when she told him and Gendry what she’d found out. She’d pulled both of them away from the rest of the men, they didn’t need to know yet. A quarter of the soldiers would turn deserter before the morning if they found out now, better to wait until they were closer to King’s Landing and they could be reminded that there was still one dragon left.

“Whoever made those things… that’s fine work” Gendry couldn’t hide the admiration that tinted his voice. No matter how much of Robert Baratheon’s son he was, he’d always be a smith first.

“Seems like the Dragon Queen might not be able to fly in and burn everything like last time she fought a Lannister army” she pondered out loud. Arya didn’t know how to feel about it all. On one hand she was anxious about this setback. The chances of winning the battle against Cersei shrunk, but should they win, the Dragon Queen would be more vulnerable than before. She was sure Sansa would have the same thought once she got the news too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if I'll update before 8x05 because I want to know what I can/want to incorporate into this story. There might be a shorter chapter though that'll basically just be a somewhat silly reunion with our favourite baker. Might be some angst about Missandei's death too.
> 
> I know I said I probably won't kill anyone in this story but it's gone in a direction I didn't expect and I'll probably end up killing a few.


	7. The Crossroads Inn And Its Keeper

Seeing the smoke from the chimney ahead, Arya felt something akin to anticipation. The last time she’d been there Hot Pie had told her that Jon was King in the North and she’d taken the road north instead of south. He’d unwittingly ensured the end of the Long Night by telling her those things. She wasn’t sure letting him know that would be good though, plenty would lose their sanity to his endless talking.

The Crossroads Inn looked much like it had when she left it. It looked like it was mostly empty and it didn’t surprise Arya. Most smallfolk tended to avoid the paths of an approaching army. She slid down from her horse before anyone else and with Gendry close behind, she entered the inn.

“Welcome to th… ARRY!” Hot Pie bellowed and with surprising speed for such a heavy man he made his way between the tables to greet her. “By the Gods… Gendry?”

“Hello Hot Pie” Arya said, with quite obvious affection. There was something about the baker that pulled on her old self. He wasn’t afraid of her, well… not _that_ afraid anymore, although if he knew what she’d done he’d probably piss himself like he did at Harrenhal.

“Never thought I’d see you come south again,” Hot Pie all but dragged them further into the inn and turned his eyes to Gendry, “I thought you’d be dead somewhere after the Brotherhood disappeared”

“They sold me to a witch before that” Gendry said and Arya caught the discomfort in it. She hadn’t thought much about what it would’ve been like to go through what the Red Woman had done to him.

“Well… you’re here now” Hot Pie was so blessedly simple. As they were talking Jon, Ser Davos, The Hound and a few commanders had joined them inside.

“I want you to meet my brother” the look on Hot Pies face was one she would recall whenever she needed something to cheer her up.

“You want me to meet the King in the North?” he squeaked and wrung his hands in front of him.

“He bent the knee to the Dragon Queen so he’s not King anymore… he’s the Lord of Winterfell” Hot Pie still looked like he’d faint.

Arya turned around and saw Jon still standing by the door, observing them. She grinned at him and he came over. She hadn’t told him much about Hot Pie aside from the fact that he’d been with her at Harrenhal.

“Jon, this is Hot Pie” she introduced and her old friend bowed.

“It’s an honour to meet you, my Lord” Hot Pie gushed and Arya could tell the man wanted to ask so many questions but was too afraid to.

“Likewise, my sister told me you were at Harrenhal together” any excitement drained from Hot Pie’s face and was replaced by a ghostly terror. Arya wanted to whack her brother over the head for mentioning it.

“I… I was…” he looked lost in thought for a moment before he gathered his wits with great effort. “Let me bring you some ale and food” Hot Pie seemed to wear the role of inn-keeper like Arya wore her armour and the thought saddened her.

 

The Hound had chosen to sit alone at a table in a corner and had already finished two chickens. His face was stuck in a scowl and Arya had no doubt that he was thinking about the upcoming fight and how much he wanted to kill his brother. She remembered him talking about it all those years ago, when he’d still been trying to take her to Robb and her mother. The Mountain was on her short list but she could let The Hound have that kill. He’d hated his brother for far longer than she had after all.

“So when Arry got us out of Harrenhal I couldn’t believe it. And then I stayed here instead of going with the Brotherhood. The old inn-keeper liked my bread,” Hot Pie’s tongue had loosened considerably after a tankard of ale and Jon had patiently listened to Hot Pie rambling. “And then she died a couple of weeks ago and left the inn to me, said she didn’t trust anyone else to take care of it” the pride was written all over his face and Arya was happy for him. He was one of the few good people she’d met among all the bad ones.

“It _is_ good bread” Gendry agreed and to drive it home he took another bite of the piece he had in his hand. Arya had intended to ask Hot Pie if he wanted to come north with them after the war was done, if they lived to see the end of it, but he seemed to have made himself a good life and she didn’t want to take that away from him. The baker turned inn-keeper glowed with the praise and drink.

“I hope you defeat that Lion Queen” Hot Pie suddenly turned serious. “She’s mad, isn’t she?”

“She is” Arya confirmed and Hot Pie sighed.

“She’s been taxing us smallfolk so much, most don’t have enough to survive this winter. It’s mostly safe outside King’s Landing but if you’re her enemy…” he didn’t need to say it, they all knew what Cersei did to her enemies. They’d received another raven from Dragonstone. Missandei had been beheaded by The Mountain when the Dragon Queen refused to surrender. Arya didn’t have much of an opinion on the foreign woman but Jon and Ser Davos had been saddened by her death in a more personal way.

“I’m going to kill her” Arya declared and the four men she shared the table with turned toward her. “I was going to when I was here last time… then you said Jon was King in the North and I went north instead”

“She was always the first name of that list you always repeated” Gendry, who was sitting next to her, had a hand on her knee under the table and he involuntarily squeezed. Much like he’d done under the furs when she’d told him and Jon about what she’d done since they were separated.

“If anyone could do it… it’d be Arry” Hot Pie declared, he still forgot that she wasn’t actually called Arry, but Arya didn’t mind. Jon had tried to correct him at first but gave up on it quickly.

“I think we’d better turn in for the night” Ser Davos eventually said and Jon nodded. They still had some distance to cover until they could join up with the Dragon Queen.

“I had Jeyne prepare the rooms for you earlier” Hot Pie announced and earned four stunned looks. “I’m afraid you’ll have to share though”

“That will be perfectly fine” Jon assured and stood.

“Oh good… Arry and Gendry can take the one just above the stairs to the right. It’s not large but… it’s comfortabe” Arya nearly burst out laughing at the looks that crossed Jon’s and Gendry’s faces. Jon hadn’t said anything about her sleeping arrangements but he didn’t have to. She knew he wasn’t happy that his little sister shared her bed with a man. Especially not when injuries acquired in the last battle had healed enough to allow for things other than sleep. Gendry looked like a horse ready to bolt when he met eyes with her brother.

“Thanks, Hot Pie” impulsively she hugged the large man, “if you ever tire of this place, you will always be welcome at Winterfell” she whispered.

“Don’t die Arry” her heart squeezed uncomfortably in her chest before she let go and dragged Gendry with her up the stairs before Jon or the stupid bull could protest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I probably wouldn't post anything before the next episode but I needed to write this. It's short and silly and I wanted to have that before the next shitstorm arrives.


	8. If We Are To Die, Let Us First Live

When Gendry closed the door behind them, Arya began to undress. He was following her movements that still weren’t as graceful as they usually were. His blue eyes had taken on that same look as when she’d pulled her shirt over her head in the forge. It wasn’t until she got to her trousers that he moved. They stood facing each other and his large hands covered her own on the laces. He leaned down and kissed her and she would never admit she’d actually whimpered. Their lips were dry and there was tenderness where bruises were still healing, but the fire inside her flared. She let him take over untying the strings and let her own set to work on his clothes.

They weren’t as hurried as they’d been in the forge, they weren’t unsure of how much time they had this time. They had all night and would not be interrupted by horns announcing an army of dead. Her hands found the hem of his shirt and she pushed it up as high as she could, which wasn’t nearly high enough to get it off him completely. She made a sound of protest as his warm hands left her sides to pull it off himself and then they were back on her. His mouth left hers and travelled down her jaw as he finally pushed her trousers from her hips. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders and she kissed the top of his head, one hand holding his neck. She gasped when his breath ghosted over the marks that were a constant reminder of the Night King’s existence and when he pressed his lips to them she drew a shuddering breath.

“Arya…” he whispered her name like a prayer and she held him closer. He’d gotten her trousers down to pool at her feet and she stepped out of them, his hands gently raked up her legs, the callouses on them sending tingles of pleasure straight to her core. To her dismay he straightened, causing her hands to land on his chest. Arya, deciding that she might as well use it to her advantage, started undoing the laces on his trousers. She looked down and a small self-satisfied smile tugged her lips upwards as she could clearly see his cock straining under the fabric.

His hands found her face and held it between them, forcing her to look him in the eye when she pushed his trousers down as far as they could go before they were caught on his boots. She never thought she would willingly kneel to any man, but as she carefully sank to her knees before him, the look in his blue eyes made her think that maybe it wasn’t so bad. She hadn’t really gotten to see him in that forge or the bath they’d taken together, and now that she was at a level with it, she would look. She’d seen him take a piss all those years ago but then she’d been too young to care. She’d seen other cocks in the whorehouses of Braavos but none of them had ever appealed to her. Probably because the men they were attached to were the kind who would pay for a woman to bring them pleasure.

Together they got his boots off and the trousers followed quickly. Out of curiosity she wrapped her fingers around his cock and was rewarded with his sharp intake of breath and a moan. She imitated what the whores would do and with a hand on his thigh, she could feel every tremor of his body. She got to her feet but kept her hand moving over him and he kissed her again. This time there was a ferocity that burned like wildfire. His hands were grabbing at her, one hand cupping her breast, using his thumb to rub her nipple that quickly tightened like it would in the cold, only this time it was due to the heat running through her veins.

“Gods… Arya” the strain in his voice caused a surge of pride within her. For so long the only thing that gave her power over a man was her ability to kill him, and though that was satisfying it would fade quickly. The power she felt as Gendry groaned in her ear, was more gratifying than anything she’d ever felt. Except killing the Freys.

Suddenly her wrists were held in his hands and his forehead rested against hers. She stood on the tips of her toes and pressed her lips to his and it was slow again. He brought her hands up around his neck and she knitted her fingers to keep hold of him when he lifted her off the floor. She gripped his sides with her thighs and a moan was torn from her when she felt his cock nudge her core. He moaned too and buried his face in her neck, placing kisses wherever he could reach. Arya clawed at his back, trying to keep him as close to her as she could and caught his earlobe between her teeth.

She held on to him as he put her down on the bed and he nearly lost his balance. A groan that wasn’t of pleasure left him as his body twisted in a way that made his still bruised ribs protest. She kissed him and caressed his cheek as if to apologise. She’d been on top of him in the forge and she’d liked having the large build of him beneath her, she didn’t mind having him cover her though. He was cradled between her legs and he paused to look at her before he crawled down the short length of her body.  One of his hands found hers and he intertwined his fingers with hers as he kissed her breasts and her other hand found his neck again. His teeth finding the rosy tip made her groan and more heat pooled between her legs.

He’d let her lead in the forge and she’d sped through it. She’d taken him inside her almost as soon as she’d gotten on top of him and rushed to the finish. The pleasure had been there, but it had not consumed her, not like it was now. He let his lips grace the scars left behind by all those that had tried to kill her, the touch was like a feather and yet he might as well have been branding her with hot iron.

“Gendry” her voice shook and she didn’t know why she said it, but it brought her some kind of peace to say his name. It didn’t fill her with blind rage like her prayer to the Many-Faced God had. She felt his smile against her stomach and he crept further down still. Arya knew what he planned to do, though she had seen it only once and that was when a man had paid to watch two of the whores pleasure each other. She’d never seen a man’s head between a woman’s legs. His stubble scratched against her inner thighs and involuntarily they twitched. She smacked his shoulder when he kept kissing the pale skin of her legs, yellowing bruises interrupting the white.

“I’ll kill you if you don’t get on with it” she breathed and she didn’t sound nearly as threatening as she wanted to.

“As you wish, m’lady” he grinned and she was about to smack him again when his tongue flicked the swollen nub that made her whole body quiver. Her fingers still laced with his squeezed and her other hand pulled on the furs beneath her as he feasted on her like a man starving. She didn’t even try to keep the moans from escaping her throat, she didn’t care that the men sleeping in rooms next to them could very likely hear her.

His fingers joined his mouth in bringing her pleasure and her hips jerked so hard she nearly pushed him from the bed. The arm he’d used for balance snaked around her leg and the hand pressed her hip to the bed, gentle to not disturb the hurts that still lingered. He kept devouring her and she could feel a rush go through her. The more pleasure he gave her, the tighter her body was drawn and as he curled his fingers just so, she snapped like the release of an arrow. The sound torn from her throat was a high-pitched moan. She thought he would have stopped his assault on her senses but he didn’t, he anchored her legs around his head with both arms, leaving her hands free to hold on to anything they could grasp. Again, he made her climb to that peak and only when she came crashing down a second time, did he stop.

Her vision was blurry and her breathing erratic as she tried to sit up. She had enjoyed their tryst in the forge but her pleasure had not crested like his. She’d heard the whores of Braavos say that most men didn’t care whether the woman enjoyed herself or not as long as they got to stick their cocks in a warm cunt and that women had to take any pleasure they could find. As Gendry slowly covered her body with his again, she saw he had a proud grin on his face and had her body not felt like the bones had left it, she would have punched him. Instead, she let him kiss her again and winced when he accidentally jolted her as he settled his hips in the cradle of hers.

One of his arms was hooked under her knee and he pushed it towards her torso as he leaned down to kiss her. He balanced himself on his knees as he sank into her again and the moan that tore from his throat was animalistic. He didn’t remain still for long and as he started rocking into her she felt the embers of pleasure flash to life again. She captured his mouth with hers but it became increasingly difficult to keep kissing him as their breath grew more and more laboured. Their foreheads were pressed together and Arya clung to his shoulders. Their bodies were pressed together and though her ribs still hurt, she wouldn’t have let go of him even if Jon had burst through the door at that very moment.

Gendry’s movements turned more frantic and his moans more desperate, just like they’d done in the forge on those sacks of grain. She tried to match his pace but a hand on her hip stilled her and she let him chase his end. She wanted to reach another peak and so she managed to worm a hand between them, seeking that nub of pleasure he’d wrapped his lips around before. She didn’t have enough room to move but the added friction helped. The pleasure was building and then she felt him still inside her as his whole body shook. She felt his seed fill her and it felt just as strange as it had that one time. Surprisingly it brought her own end, for the third time. It wasn’t as all-consuming as the previous ones but it was there and left her feel calmer than she had in years, probably since before her father lost his head.

Gendry all but collapsed as he rolled to the side and she mourned the loss of his body against hers, still she was grateful he hadn’t just laid on top of her. They were both covered in a fresh layer of sweat but Arya couldn’t have cared less. They’d been covered in worse only weeks ago. The both lay there on top of the furs for a while before the chill of the room started to make itself known. Both being too sated and boneless to rise, they sluggishly wiggled until they could get the covers free to slip beneath them. The bed was larger than hers back at Winterfell but they laid as close as they would have when they slept on the ground back when they first became a pack. She smiled when she heard him snore only moments after getting comfortable. She fell asleep as the last candle Hot Pie had lit for them went out.

 

She woke with a start as there was someone pounding on the door and it chased away any remaining fog since the night before. Gendry hadn’t moved an inch at the noise and she wondered how he was still alive when he slept as deeply as that.

“Get your arses up, we’re leaving” she heard The Hound growl through the wood and she was up before he’d gotten half-way through the command. She shook Gendry, she had to shake hard, to wake him and he grumbled something she couldn’t quite make out. It might have been something about her coming back to bed.

“Get up, you stupid bull” she told him as she tried to get her trousers on. She had been distracted by the rude awakening but now she felt the rather unpleasant feeling of dried seed on her. There was no time to wash though so she just laced up the leather and proceeded to pull her other clothes on. Gendry was not too far behind when she’d finished and she impatiently waited for him by the door.

There was a lot of bustling about outside as the army made ready to depart the inn to make their way to Dragonstone and Jon was standing by his horse with Ser Davos at his side. The grim look on their faces suggested that something had happened, something awful.

“Missandei was executed,” Jon told her and handed her a small roll of paper, “a raven arrived early this morning”

“Cersei had her beheaded when Her Grace went to negotiate for the surrender of King’s Landing” Ser Davos supplied the additional detail as Arya read the message.

“Who thought that would work?” she asked and Jon and Ser Davos exchanged a look.

“Tyrion Lannister” Jon bit out and Arya couldn’t quite decipher the look in his eyes.

“Trusting Cersei Lannister is probably the worst thing one could ever do. She’ll do whatever it takes to keep her seat on the throne” Sansa and Arya had spent quite a lot of time talking about the Lannister-bitch. Sometimes it would sound like Sansa admired the woman and if her sister was right, Arya could see why. At least in part. Jon threw her a look that clearly told her he was not happy with her answer.

“She said she’d send her army to help against the dead… she never did” Gendry contributed and it was Ser Davos’ turn to glare. Arya looked up at the bull, maybe he wasn’t a complete idiot.

“Well… we better get going” Jon ended the conversation by swinging himself into the saddle and turn away from them.

 

The ride to Dragonstone felt longer than the one to the Crossroads Inn and the closer they got the more Arya wanted to turn around and run the opposite direction. She kept close to Gendry and both he and The Hound were looking at her with concern. The Hound tried to hide it, but it was there.

Arya had never seen Dragonstone before and seeing it loom in the distance made her blood curdle. It was an intimidating structure and seeing the black dragon fly around the tower magnified the feeling of doom. She’d been filled with awe when she saw the two dragons fly over Winterfell the first time, but now the one only inspired an intense sense of pending disaster. Arya did not know the Dragon Queen, but she didn’t think the woman had taken her defeat well. Gendry had gone very still beside her and she glanced at him. His face had lost its colour and he was clutching the railing of the boat so hard his knuckles turned white. She hadn’t given it much thought, but he was returning to a place where he’d been held captive and would have died, had it not been for Ser Davos. She didn’t know if it would truly help, but she placed her own hand over one of his and felt him ease a little of the tension.

As they landed on the shore of the island Jon was met by Varys and while she couldn’t hear what was said or see Jon’s face, his body betrayed the feelings the words inspired. He was angry and she frowned. She observed Varys standing there at the beach, looking at her brother. Somehow he seemed to be as frustrated as she was. It was in moments like these she wished he had Sansa to talk to, a thought she still wasn’t quite used to.

“Come on” she told Gendry who looked like he was going to empty his stomach on the shore. She wondered exactly what had transpired when he was held captive by his uncle. Aside from the Red Woman putting leeches all over him. When his hand closed around hers, she held onto it. From the way his eyes were locked on the castle, she thought maybe he didn’t even know he’d done it.

“The Red Woman is dead” she reminded him and he nodded. He was still tense and she had to drag him all the way to the huge doors. Jon had already gotten inside, probably meeting with his Queen. She saw the Unsullied in the yard along with the handful of Dothraki that had somehow made it through the slaughter at Winterfell.

“I hate this place,” Gendry whispered when the doors opened to let them in. He held her hand tighter as someone showed them into the hall where the Lords of Dragonstone would greet their guests. Lord Tyrion was standing below the raised seat and Arya frowned. She’d have thought the Dragon Queen would greet the rest of her army.

“Welcome to Dragonstone, Lady Stark” the Imp said, he glanced at Arya’s fingers laced with Gendry’s and a frown crossed his face before he schooled it into a polite smile. Arya did not miss the look and levelled him with her careful mask.

“We heard about what happened,” the Lannister shifted uncomfortably, “where’s the Queen and my brother?”

“They are in the Queen’s private chambers” it did not surprise her in the least.

“What’s the plan then?” she needed to know what the new strategy was.

“The Queen has not made a decision yet” the man told her and Arya bristled.

“Do you mean to tell me that since the time of her advisor being executed, she has done nothing?” Arya did not hide her dismay about it. It had been days and there was no new strategy.

“Our Queen has been grieving for her trusted friend and advisor. She has lost a great deal” the Lannister had likely hoped that this would placate Arya, but he did not know her.

“We’ve all lost people. If she wants to be Queen she doesn’t have time to sit around and mope about it. I thought my entire family was lost to me, I didn’t sit around and cry about it” Tyrion Lannister flinched at the harsh tone and Arya was most satisfied with it. The man feared her in the same way most people did after hearing she had ended the Night King.

“Well…” Tyrion Lannister cleared his throat before continuing, “I’ll have someone show you to your quarters”

“We’ll be sharing” Arya told him and the Imp’s eyebrows disappeared into his hair. Gendry didn’t say a word and she tugged at him when he wouldn’t immediately follow her when an Unsullied came to escort them to whatever chamber the Dragon Queen had arranged for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Episode 5 was a fucking disaster so here is something to hopefully soothe the anger that it brought. I had planned to move the story along a bit more but I'm trying to figure out how to fix the battle of King's Landing to fit into this story.


	9. You Swore You'd Never Tell

In the relative privacy of the chamber they’d been escorted to, Arya and Gendry were sitting at a small table sharing a loaf of bread that Hot Pie had snuck into their bags. It was shaped like a dire wolf and this time Arya didn’t have to guess wat it was.

“I hope Hot Pie lives a long, happy life at that inn” she mused and Gendry stiffly nodded. He still hadn’t said much which disturbed her. Despite all the times she called him stupid and told him to shut up, his silence was troubling and she would vastly prefer him calling her m’lady incessantly.

The silence stretched and Arya wanted to break it. She was customarily the one to impose silence that would eventually make whoever was in her presence spill their secrets and this time it was the other way around. She wasn’t in control of it and it was not a feeling she was accustomed to.

“What did they really do to you here?” she eventually broke and if her companion had been still before, he might have turned into a statue at her question.

“I told you” she could see his jaw clench.

“You just said she needed your blood and put leeches all over you” the grimace that settled in his features made her heart clench in pain.

“She did…” he swallowed.

“I was so angry with you when you said you’d stay with the Brotherhood” maybe starting at a different point would be easier.

“I should’ve gone with you then…” she was surprised that he sounded much like he was holding back tears.

“Well… we took the long road but we’re together now” he smiled a little at that.

“We are” he was staring at his hands that rested in his lap, though he didn’t really seem to see them.

“Gendry” she rose from her chair and stood before him, her hands cupped his face tenderly but firmly, forcing him to look at her. Blue met grey and the pain in the blue reminded her of whirlpools.

“She got me drunk in her chambers” his voice trembled and tried to look away, the shame was like a cloud over his face. “She made me believe I was something… some _one_ …”

She wanted to tell him he’d always been someone important but she knew that wasn’t what he needed to hear. She knew he wouldn’t listen to her in that moment. He never did listen to her when she told him he was worthy even as a bastard. So instead of saying anything, she kept staring into his eyes, her hands that had ended so many lives softly framing his face.

“I thought she wanted me…” she couldn’t blame him for falling prey to the Red Woman. Melisandre had been beautiful and if she’d successfully seduced someone like Stannis Baratheon, she would have had no trouble seducing a poor bastard smith from Flea Bottom.

“She sat naked on me and then tied me to the bed… put leeches all over me” tears were gathering in his eyes.

“For some kind of spell” he nodded and when he blinked, the tears escaped and ran down his cheeks until they were interrupted by her fingers.

“I think she used them to curse your brother” Gendry said so quietly she nearly missed it. It finally dawned on her that the idiot probably blamed himself for the death of her brother and mother, and as he’d believed, her own death as well.

“The Freys murdered my family, they’d be dead whether the Red Woman cursed them or not” her thumbs brushed away the tears that stained his cheeks and he definitely didn’t believe her.

“But she did… using my blood. She probably cursed the other Kings too and they died” he was so stubborn.

“They did… My brother was a good man, but he was too honourable. He was just like my father and he got himself killed too” she hated admitting it out loud.

“But…” she kissed him to silence the protest.

“My brother broke an oath, a marriage oath at that. The Freys were always a prickly sort. They murdered him and they’re dead now” her voice was soft, but firm.

“Ser Davos saved me from being burned alive… They ended up burning the Princess Shireen instead” he closed his eyes as if he couldn’t bear to look at her. Did he blame himself for the death of the girl as well?

“Look at me,” she commanded and he unwillingly opened his eyes, “people die all the time. Innocent people are killed every day for some phoney reason or other. There’s nothing we can do about it and only the person dealing the killing blow, or ordering it, is responsible for it”

“If I’d died, she would’ve lived” the tears were freely flowing now and she hated it. She didn’t have much patience for weeping as it never accomplished anything, but she figured they had time now. They weren’t supposed to be anywhere for some time.

“And it would have been in vain. I would probably be dead if you hadn’t come to Winterfell. Hell, we’d all probably been dead. You’re the one who figured out how to turn the dragon glass into weapons. You made me that staff. You made me _want_ to live” her breath caught in her throat. How was it that he kept pulling these emotional speeches out of her? This was the second time.

His eyes were searching for any trace of a lie, she could see it and when he found none his whole body sagged forward. He buried his face in her stomach and his arms wrapped around her waist. With one arm around his shoulders and the other cradling the back of his head, Arya felt surer than when she’d tried to make him understand with words. She’d discovered that they conveyed most of their affections through touch over the past weeks since the battle that nearly brought the end of the world with it.

“You’re too good for me,” he murmured into her body and she marvelled at his ability to make her want to slap him.

“No, I’m not. I’ve killed so many… not all of them deserved it” her time at the House of Black and White had taught her a great deal, but it had stolen a part of her. She’d killed some simply because the man wearing Jaqen H’gar’s face had told her to and it had started to haunt her when she returned to Winterfell.

“You did it to survive” he muttered and she huffed. Why was it that when someone died because of her, he thought it was alright and yet when someone who died when he didn’t, it was his fault?

“Exactly. And so did you” she placed a kiss at the top of his head and he seemed to burrow further into her. When he tightened his arms she let out a tiny groan of pain as it put pressure on her ribs and he let go completely at once. She didn’t like that at all.

“I’m sorry” he exclaimed and she rolled her eyes, he could be so dramatic.

“I’m fine. Just sore” she sat down in her chair again and reached for her cup of water. They’d been given wine too but neither of them wanted it.

 

The knock on their door startled both of them as they’d made themselves comfortable on the large bed. The ride had been tiring and their nightly escapade had kept them from sleep for too long.

“Her Grace invite you to supper with her” a heavily accented voice announced through the door and though Arya would have rather ignore it altogether, she knew she couldn’t. She’d slighted the Queen once already and Sansa had implored her to be more careful.

“Do you think she means both of us or just you?” he asked her and she bit her lip. She didn’t know what would be the least terrible.

“Her Grace expects you both within the hour” the accented voice helpfully supplied as if he had heard them. Arya wasn’t sure he _hadn’t_.

“Guess that answers that then” she grumbled and sighed. What would the Dragon Queen want with Gendry? She knew her own invitation was because of Jon and her status as the hero of Winterfell, but the Targaryen woman had never shown any interest in Gendry before. It had been Jon who insisted the smiths were present in the Great Hall at the feast. Arya wasn’t sure the woman even knew Gendry’s name.

“Suppose we better clean up” Gendry said as he looked down on his dust-covered trousers. Arya agreed, although she didn’t really feel like making herself _presentable_ to the Queen who had claimed a throne that rightfully belonged to Jon – Aegon VI Targaryen. Granted she hadn’t known that when she landed in Westeros but she did now.

 

They’d washed up with the water from a basin in the corner of their room and dusted off their clothes as much as possible. They’d been packing for a battle, not for a feast, so they didn’t have any clothes to change into. The Dragon Queen was unlikely to notice if her grief was so distracting she hadn’t even made any plans for the immediate future.

They entered the small room behind the commander of the Unsullied, he’d introduced himself as Grey Worm. The normally so elegant Dragon Queen looked haggard. Her hair may have been done and she may have worn her black leathers, but her eyes were red from crying and her skin was pallid. Arya couldn’t find it in herself to pity her. She had no one to blame but herself. She’s the one that insisted they march too soon without a proper plan.

She made a half-hearted bow while Gendry did a correct one, Jon sent her a disapproving look that she decided to ignore. If the Queen was as weak as this in the face of loss, she was no fitter to sit on the throne than a new-born babe.

“Thank you for joining us” the Dragon Queen politely greeted but the words were empty. She didn’t want to partake in the supper any more than Arya did. At least they agreed on something. Arya and Gendry sat down in the seats clearly prepared for them and a heavy silence fell over the room. They were soon joined by Lord Varys and Lord Tyrion and the two were observing Gendry too closely for Arya’s liking. She didn’t like the way they looked at him at all in fact.

“It’s Gendry, is it not?” the Dragon Queen spoke the question like she already knew the answer and Arya’s head whipped around so fast she felt a pop in her neck.

“It is, Your Grace” Gendry answered and his discomfort radiated off him in waves.

“You’re Robert Baratheon’s son” Arya’s blood ran cold and as she looked at Jon across the table, he avoided her steely gaze.

“Bastard” Gendry stated. Arya fixed her stare on the Dragon Queen and tried to figure out what the woman was going to do. She had the dagger and needle strapped to her hips so she could definitely kill her if she made an attempt on the smith’s life.

“No. You are the lawful son of Robert Baratheon, heir to Storm’s End” the Dragon Queen looked much too pleased with herself.

“I… I don’t understand, Your Grace” Gendry was panicking in the seat next to her and if Arya was truthful, so was she.

“You are, because that is what I have made you. Or will, once I’ve taken the Iron Throne” the amendment at the end was a small comfort. No matter how much the Targaryen bitch claimed to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, she hadn’t been crowned yet.

“I’d have thought a bastard from Flea Bottom would jump at such an opportunity” Lord Tyrion remarked and Arya felt a surge of hatred for her sister’s former husband. Jon still evaded meeting her eyes. He’d sworn to her that he wouldn’t tell. The betrayal hurt more than she could’ve imagined.

“I…” Gendry was at a loss for words and below the table his hand found hers. The clammy sweat of his palm mingled with her own and a frenzy of thoughts struggled for attention in her mind. She couldn’t make sense of any of them.

Her brother – cousin – had broken her trust and she cursed herself for thinking he’d keep a secret from the woman he loved. The woman who bent him to her will so easily. She would not break her oath to him. She would end the silver bitch, she didn’t know when or how, but she had some time to figure it out. There was still a battle to be fought and any Lordship she declared would not be valid until she was on the throne. If there was any luck she would fall in the battle to come. Arya didn’t believe there would be any such luck, she still had one dragon and the Unsullied were still numerous.

Arya had managed to keep her mask of calm through the meal and she listened to the others make plans for the taking of King’s Landing. Lord Tyrion managed to convince the bitch to call off any assault if the city rang the bells. The look the cunt shared with the man called Grey Worm did not make Arya think it was a promise that’d be kept. Arya still remembered her father telling Robb and Jon about how their grandfather and uncle had been burned alive in the throne room in the Red Keep by the Mad King. If the promise was kept, the strategy was sound, it would minimise the loss of civilian lives.

 

Once the Queen-bitch retired to her chambers with Grey Worm in tow, Arya cornered Jon before he could slip away like a craven. He startled at the naked hatred she embodied when she pushed him against the wall of an empty corridor. Gendry stayed close by, looking like he’d preferred the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

“You _swore_ you wouldn’t tell her, that you wouldn’t tell anyone” she growled at him. She was much shorter than him and had anyone that didn’t know Arya Stark seen it, it would have been an amusing sight. Jon – Aegon Targaryen – did know her though, at least she’d thought he did and there was fear and no small amount of shame and guilt in his brown eyes.

“She’s our Queen, she should know…” he insisted, trying to make her understand why he did it. She understood well enough. Men truly did do stupid things for women. “I can’t lie to her”

“You wouldn’t even have had to lie, you could have just kept your mouth shut” she hissed and her left hand was itching to pull Needle from its sheath and press the pointy end into the soft skin under his chin.

“That’s the same thing… I told you and Sansa about who I am” he defended and it got progressively harder to resist the urge to kill him.

“No it’s not. And you telling _us_ who _you_ are is nothing like telling _her_ who _he_ is” she spat the words out like she’d thrown the spearheads made of dragon glass.

“He’ll be a Lord… you could marry him and…” she interrupted him by closing her hand around his throat. She didn’t squeeze hard enough to cause any damage, just enough to make sure she had his attention.

“If you say be Lady of Storm’s End, I’ll kill you right here” the venom and the words themselves took all three of them aback. She hadn’t meant to say that.

“Arya… I thought… I thought it would be what you wanted” Jon had tears in his eyes and he was her brother, then his betrayal hit her again and he was her cousin who was the rightful heir to the Iron Throne.

“Then you don’t fucking know me at all. I’ll be with him whatever his fucking name is” she glanced at Gendry and she saw the stricken look on his face. For a moment she thought he was finally afraid of her, but the look in his eyes softened once their eyes met and there was no fear in them.

“Arya… I’m sorry,” brown eyes were pleading with her, “we’re family”

“I know that. It’s you who’ve traded your dire wolf for a dragon” the hurt the words caused were clear and she thought that perhaps he’d been thinking the same thing at some point.

“She won’t harm him” he insisted and Arya snorted. He was so in love with the bitch he couldn’t see what was written as clear as freshly fallen snow right in front of him.

“Remember what I promised I’d do if you told her?” she questioned and any colour that remained to his face drained.

“Arya… you can’t” she let her fingers press against his windpipe a little harder.

“I won’t do it before the battle. Unfortunately we still need her army to defeat Cersei. But after… if she and I are still alive by the end of it, I will kill her” abruptly she let go of her cousin and as she dragged Gendry with her outside, she thought she heard a sob. She didn’t care. He had no one but himself to blame. In her mind she added Daenerys Targaryen to her list of names.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon would totally have told Daenerys. He's incapable of keeping secrets from the people he loves, no matter how misguided.
> 
> And fair warning for future chapters: I'll probably use this fic to take my frustration with certain characters out. If you don't like where I take it, that's fine, but remember that it is MY story.


	10. The Bells Tolled For Deaf Ears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, you're getting two chapters in one day because I probably won't be able to post anything for the next three days.
> 
> I will say this: I did not like writing this chapter at all because I hated this battle so much. I know this might upset some of you and I know it's fantastically unrealistic but this is what I wanted to write.
> 
> I also directly lifted the scene between The Hound and Arya from the show, tweaking in a little bit, because it's one of the few scenes I truly loved in the fuck-up that is known as episode 5.

Arya was a whirl of ferocious efficiency as she readied the dinghy in the middle of the night. She’d none too gently informed Gendry that they were leaving once she was sure no one had followed to eavesdrop. She saw the confusion in those blue eyes that were so different from the blue of the Night King.

“And where the fuck are you two going?” she’d been ready to draw Needle at the approaching footsteps but it was just The Hound. Strange how she’d come to trust the man that had cut her friend down the previous time she was travelling to King’s Landing.

“That’s our business” she growled and the giant of a man snorted. Gendry stood uncertain by her side, his eyes flickering between herself and the man with the burned face.

“King’s Landing, eh?” she didn’t know how he knew, maybe he just guessed, “You going to cross some more names off that list of yours?”

“Yes” she admitted.

“Got some unfinished business there myself” he grumbled and Arya raised an eyebrow. She supposed it wouldn’t hurt to have him travel with them. Three wasn’t much different than two.

“Someone’s coming” Gendry interrupted the staring-match that ensued and they all turned their heads toward the shape moving toward them. It was difficult to see in the dark but it looked like one of the Unsullied. As the shape passed through the light from a torch, her suspicion was confirmed.

“Think we should kill him?” the Hound asked in the same way anyone else would ask for more wine.

“No…” Arya wasn’t opposed to killing the foreign men who’d come with the silver bitch, but she didn’t want to cause Jon more trouble, no matter how much she hated him in that moment. The Hound and Gendry pushed the dinghy into the water as she heaved the satchel of stolen food into it and climbed in. Gendry climbed into the oarsman’s seat and started rowing with steady strokes.

“This is the second time I row away from this place in the middle of the night” he grumbled and Arya made a very unladylike sound while the Hound responded with silence.

 

Once they reached the shore, they made their way to the stables that were guarded by three Dothraki and two Unsullied. It would be impossible for them to get past them so they’d have to trick them somehow. The three of them approached the men from across the Narrow Sea and she schooled her expression into one of cold authority.

“What are you doing here?” an Unsullied spoke, his accent thick but at least he spoke the Common Tongue.

“Her Grace has ordered us to scout ahead for the march” Arya said without hesitation. Both Gendry and The Hound fortuitously caught on quickly.

“I would have thought she would send her own men” the Unsullied was suspicious, with good reason. Arya was after all lying through her teeth.

“She thought it best that someone who knows the land do it. Now, if you don’t mind, we need to ready our horses” Gendry spoke up and Arya was pleasantly surprised by his initiative. He sounded much like he had when she’d heard him bark orders at the other smiths. The Unsullied still didn’t move.

“Oh, for fucks sake. Do you want us to have to go back and tell the Queen who delayed her orders?” The Hound had always had an ability to threaten people by implying they were disobeying their own master. It was quite funny to see the two Unsullied shift awkwardly and then step aside.

 

Not much happened on the way to King’s Landing. Most of the small folk avoided them like they were a plague or had up and left their homes, seeking refuge from the war hanging over them. Some had made their way to King’s Landing, hoping their Queen would protect them. Arya pitied them, they would have been safer anywhere in the Seven Kingdoms than they’d be in King’s Landing.

It had taken them four days to reach the city and it was overflowing with people trying to get into the Red Keep.

“Fuckers don’t realise the Lannister cunt is using them for shields” The Hound scorned and spat on the ground as they pushed their way through the crowd.

“Shouldn’t we try to warn them?” Gendry had been quiet most of the ride, lost in thought but Arya knew he was thinking of all the low-borne who were always used by the high-borne. He’d been one of them for a long time.

“Won’t do any difference now, you dumb cunt” the Hound was not wrong. There was no time to escape the city now. The Targaryen bitch had likely set out the morning after the arrival of the rest of her army, hours after the three of them had done so.

Panic broke out in in the throng of people when the roar of a dragon could be heard in the distance. There was more pushing and Arya was nearly pushed off balance at a sudden shove, Gendry pulled her to him before she lost her footing completely. The Hound had an even more murderous look etched into his twisted face than usual as he unceremoniously pushed men, women and children out of his way. Wherever Cersei was, his brother would be. They made it inside just before the gates closed and the panicked screams of those locked out were like knives.

Making their way through the people inside was easier than outside, the mass was calmer in their belief that they were safe inside the walls. They heard the battle outside, if it could be called as such. The lone dragon roared when he wasn’t burning something and there had been a huge crash when he demolished something. Arya didn’t know what he was burning but she hoped it wasn’t people.

There was hardly any resistance once they made it inside the castle itself. Cersei clearly hadn’t thought any threat would get past her soldiers and relied on the belief that Daenerys Targaryen would not burn innocents. For once in her life Arya hoped the woman who’d tried to destroy her family was right.

They were making their way up a staircase when the bells started ringing. A sigh of relief left her in unison with Gendry’s, but the Hound was far beyond caring about anything but killing his brother. There was silence outside and Arya thought that maybe it was over. All that needed to be done was ending Cersei’s life and the years of war and death would come to an end.

Her fragile hope was dashed by the fearsome roar of the dragon and then the screams of terror and death. The three of them turned as one to see the great black beast spewing fire on the buildings it flew past. She had so wished Jon was right about the Dragon Queen and that Sansa was wrong.

“She’s gone mad” Gendry whispered, like he was afraid someone would overhear him. Neither the Hound nor Arya responded, there was nothing to say. The bitch had succumbed to the same madness as her father.

As they went further into the keep, the ground shook and they had to duck several times to avoid crumbling walls and pieces ceiling. They could hear the roaring of fire interspersed with huge explosions. Sansa had informed her of the burning of the Sept of Baelor and she supposed that if there was one cache of wildfire hidden away, there could be more.

The three of them took turns pulling of pushing each other out of the way of falling stones and debris, ducking behind remaining walls when a new blaze tore through the air and ancient stone.

“First it’s the fucking dead and then it’s a bloody dragon,” Gendry rambled as he pulled the Hound just in time for the man not to be flattened by the remains of a pillar, “why can’t it be just ordinary men?”

“Stop whinging” the Hound shouted over the noise and Arya couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her.

“I’m not whinging” Gendry insisted and ducked as a chandelier came crashing down next to them.

“Your lips are moving and you’re complaining about something” They entered the room with a map of Westeros covering the floor. There was a crack going through it and the whole keep shook. More rubble fell around them and the Hound froze. She and Gendry came to a halt behind him and Arya couldn’t understand why he would stop when they were so close.

“Go home, both of you,” he told her and she furrowed her brows. “The fire will get her, or one of the Dothraki… or maybe that dragon will eat her. Doesn’t matter, she’s dead”

Arya looked at Gendry, as if he’d have the answers to the man’s behaviour.

“And you’ll be dead too if you don’t get out of here” he turned to her and she started forward again.

“I’m going to kill her” she simply stated, the hatred burning hot inside her. She was so close to what she’d worked for since she left Westeros and sailed east. Gendry reached for her but it was The Hound that grabbed her arm.

“You think you’ve wanted revenge for a long time? I’ve been after it all my life,” she wrenched her arm free of his grasp. “It’s all I care about”

Arya didn’t think that statement was strictly true. He’d protected her sister as well as he could and then he’d protected her.

“Look at me… LOOK AT ME! You want to be like me?” he asked her and she couldn’t avert her eyes from his even as the dragon outside roared and her vengeance beckoned.

As the large man who’d been the first person she truly hated tenderly grabbed her neck, forcing her to stay in place, she saw something she hadn’t seen before. The man before her was broken. She’d admired him in a way for his relentless thirst for revenge. Now she realised that the man had had nothing else to hold on to.

“If you come with me, you’ll die here” for a moment she thought he’d caress her cheek the way her father had done when she was little and then he left her standing on a map with cracks running through it, a visual model of what the Seven Kingdoms had become.

“Keep that wolf-bitch of yours alive, boy” The Hound turned to Gendry and the man with blue eyes nodded. The scarred man who had risked his life more than once for her turned around and she watched him go with an overpowering and suffocating sense of loss.

“Sandor” she said before she could think and he paused, turning to look at her one last time, “thank you”

The words were woefully inadequate, but they were all she had. She and Gendry watched as he disappeared up the stairs and then they had to throw themselves to the side when another bout of stones came crashing down. There would be time to grieve later, but first she had to live. The Hound had all but made her promise she would survive and truly live. She could see it in his usually spiteful eyes, he wanted her to have what he never could. Gendry grabbed her hand and dragged her back the way they came. They ran as quickly as they could, their lingering and worsened damages forgotten in their quest to survive the carnage.

Getting out of the Red Keep was much easier than getting in, the walls surrounding it had crumbled and many people had been crushed or burned to death. The Mad Queen still flew over the city, burning anything in her path. Once they were in the streets, their progress got harder as people frightened out of their wits tried to escape the flames coming from above. They were still holding tight to each other’s hands to keep from being separated. She didn’t want to die, but if she was going to she wanted to be with him when it happened.

There seemed to be no end to the massacre and the unfamiliar taste of panic was clogging her throat. She’d tasted it in Winterfell when she ran through the corridors, but she hadn’t expected to do so again so soon. They had to take cover behind a slab of stone that might have been a building once when another burst of flame razed the street they’d followed. For a brief moment grey eyes met blue and they mirrored the words they couldn’t say. Arya refused to say them now, it would feel like admitting defeat. It would mean she’d given up.

 

She didn’t know for how long they were running and in the chaos she couldn’t make sense of where they were. She didn’t know King’s Landing like she knew Winterfell. Gendry had known Flea Bottom like the back of his hand but with all the destruction they could have been anywhere. Their only direction was to get as far away from the Red Keep as possible to get outside the city walls. Charred bodies were littering their patch, much like the long dead men and women had in Winterfell. The air was thick with smoke, ash and the smell of burning flesh and it made her want to empty her vomit.

Gendry nearly tripped over the body of a young child, it would be impossible to tell whether it was a boy or a girl, and they lost their grip on each other. They reached for each other but the herd coming from behind them swept them in different directions.

“I’ll find you” Gendry shouted and she hoped it would be a promise he could keep. She didn’t think she could keep her unspoken promise to Sandor if she lost the stubborn bull again. She knew she wouldn’t want to. She couldn’t stay though, she had to live so she could find him too. She did her best to keep her feet moving but the training she’d had at the House of Black and White didn’t matter much in the mayhem of pure terror.

She fell and was repeatedly pushed down by feet landing on her back. She wondered if this was how she’d die. After all that she had seen and done, she’d be trampled to death in King’s Landing as a Mad Queen reduced it all to ashes.

“Take my hand” a woman screamed at her with a hand stretched towards her. She took it and was hauled to her feet by a woman she didn’t recognise. She held on to the stranger’s hand and they, along with a girl she assumed was the woman’s daughter, kept moving.

Another blast of fire came from above and they threw themselves behind a wall. More people were hiding in there and Arya knew that they would die if they stayed. The might die anyway but she’d take the smallest chance to live over none at all.

“We have to keep moving” she dragged the woman and child into the street again and they were knocked from their feet by Dothraki soldiers cutting down anyone in their path. If she’d known their names and their faces she’d have added them to the list that only contained one name. The girl was screaming at her mother who wouldn’t get up. The woman’s back was red and wet, but Arya dragged her up anyway. The girl’s cries would haunt her for a long time, she knew, along with all the others in her memory.

“Take her” the woman begged her and Arya let her go to drag the girl with her instead. She tried to grab the child, much like Sandor had when he dragged her away from the Wights and Beric Dondarrion, but she lost her grip and the girl ran back to her mother as the black beast plaguing the sky came closer. There was nothing she could do but get herself to the relative safety behind a wall of stone just as the flames engulfed the spot she’d been in just seconds before. The heat licked at her like it wanted to consume her but she wouldn’t let it get the chance.

She closed her eyes for a moment before peering around the corner. What she saw twisted her insides. Where there had once been people running for their lives, there were only scorched remains. The remains of the woman who had saved her from being trampled and her daughter were twisted in a gruesome embrace, completely blackened.

 

The butchery could have gone on for hours when there was a deafening shriek from the skies. She looked up from the place she’d hid in, the cellar in the remains of a house. The huge black dragon was flapping its wings to right itself in flight, she couldn’t see properly through the smoke and flames but there was something that wasn’t right with it. Another shriek and she narrowed her eyes, something was attacking the beast. She crawled out of the space and started running, trying to get a better look at what was happening. The dragon and with its mad rider were close to the outer wall and tried to turn around.

As Arya got closer she could see a tear in one of the wings and something was protruding from the body. Someone was firing on it using a scorpion that had survived the initial attack by some miracle. Another bolt lodged itself into the body of the dragon that flailed to keep itself upright and she could see the dot of silver hair clinging to its back. The dragon seemed to prepare itself to spew another round of flames and when it came it was an uncontrollable stream. It didn’t seem to have hit the scorpion though because another bolt sped through the air and this time it burrowed deep into the spot where the long neck connected with the body.

She could barely believe it when the dragon lost height and yet another bolt hit its mark. When Arya saw the silver haired bitch lose her grip on what she referred to as her child and fall from her seat, a renewed sense of purpose rushed through her. She had one name left on her list and even with Sandor’s words nagging at her, she ran through the streets with a singular target in mind.

The dragon ejected one last flare before a giant harpoon made its home in its eye. Whoever had fired it was either an insanely skilled marksman or very lucky. She figured it was the latter.


	11. We All Deserve To Die

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how this chapter turned out. I wrote it after three intense days of work at a day care and sleep deprivation. It was also a bloody pain to write.
> 
> The next chapter will likely be more Gendrya-centric.

Arya rounded one last corner and was confronted with a scene so surreal, she thought she’d wake up at any moment and discover it was all a bad dream. The huge dragon had dropped onto houses below and they’d collapsed under the suddenly added weight. The neck was twisted backwards and more bolts embedded themselves in it. Whoever was in charge of the scorpion was not going to take any chances. She couldn’t see where the Dragon-bitch had landed and wondered if she’d been crushed by her precious child. It wouldn’t be as satisfying as killing her with her own hands, but she could appreciate the irony of it.

“DROGON” had Arya not known exactly who the voice belonged to, she would have pitied the woman screaming. Quietly she made her way towards the woman desperately trying to make her way to the beast. The woman who’d always carried herself with pride and arrogance was crawling on the ground, one of her legs bent in an unnatural way.

It wasn’t until Arya fisted the silver hair in a hand and wrenched it backwards that her prey even knew she was there. Though Arya had learned to move without a sound, not much sneaking was required when there was still the sound of fire raging all around them. Teary violet eyes met her own steely grey and widened in recognition.

“So much for sparing innocent lives” Arya’s tone was flat with just a hint of malice behind them. The Dragon-bitch didn’t know her well enough to know it was there. The violet eyes may have been full of tears, but there was something unhinged in them too. It reminded Arya of the look the Frey men had had in their eyes as they butchered Robbs men at the Red Wedding.

“They deserved to die” the venom in the words the silver haired bitch spoke were not surprising to Arya.

“We all deserve to die” Arya evenly replied. She drew Needle from its scabbard and gave it an experimental twirl. She wasn’t sure whether she’d give the Mad Queen a quick or slow death.

“You can’t kill me. I am your Queen. Jon would never forgive you” she almost laughed at that. Jon may be in love with the cunt and he may be stupid, but he would never condone what had just been done.

“He will. I think he’d kill you himself if he was here. I’ll spare him that though” she smiled a little at the expression on her prey’s face.

“He wouldn’t” the Mad Queen insisted and to Arya it sounded like the mad bitch actually believed the words spilling from her mouth.

“He would. He had this sword made for me before he left for the Wall, you know” Needle glinted in the light from the flames that were raging around them. She was quickly growing tired of the talking and decided she’d had enough of it. And she decided on a quick death. Jon may forgive her for killing his lover, but he wouldn’t forgive her taking pleasure in it. He’d never liked taking lives, always seen it as a horrible duty. Just like their father – his uncle.

The angle was awkward so she took a step to be face to face with the woman whose name was the last on her list. She was still holding tight to the silver hair and remembering the lesson Sandor had taught her, she pushed Needle’s pointy end between two ribs and into the heart.

“Valar morghulis” she whispered in the ear of the last full-blooded Targaryen as she withdrew the thin sword and let go of the hair. The look on the face of the Mad Queen was one of astonishment as she fell backwards, eyes unseeing. It almost looked like she hadn’t expected to die after all.

 

Arya had decided that she might as well stay by the dead dragon, it was as good a place as any to wait. If Gendry had survived, he would know to find her there. She didn’t know how, but she knew he’d know. He’d found her after all those years apart, he’d find her again. Exhaustion threatened to take over her body but she wouldn’t let it, not until she knew Gendry was alive and that he’d survive any wounds he may have gotten. She wanted to know if Jon had made it through too. The body of Daenerys Targaryen laid at her feet and though it had felt good to kill her, the sense of victory hadn’t come. When she’d ended the Freys, she’d felt euphoric, now she didn’t feel much of anything.

As she stared at the unmoving body she heard a group of people approaching. The promise she’d made the Hound drove her to hide behind a ruined wall. She peered over the edge and saw a small group of men emerge from the smoke and flames limiting her vision. They were staggering and coughed as they came closer.

“Jon, look!” the voice of Ser Davos said and she saw him point at the body with silver hair. She saw Jon rush forward, and kneeled by the side of the woman he’d loved. She almost felt sorry for what she’d done, or at least what it’d do to the man who’d been her favourite brother. Almost.

The tall shape of a man with a hammer strapped to his back made her heart soar to her throat and she gingerly stood up. Judging by the lack of surprise that the dragon lay dead, Arya came to the conclusion that they’d been the ones to fire the scorpion. Of course they bloody did. Jon and Gendry were alike in the way they’d always put themselves at great risk, always only a whisker away from getting themselves killed.

“Arya!” Gendry exclaimed before she threw herself into his arms. She was past caring about whether it would make her appear weak as she clung to his shoulders. His arms held her close to him and he buried his face in the hair at the top of her head. Her feet dangled as he lifted her off the ground to press her as close as he could.

“I thought you’d have gotten yourself killed” she choked out into that spot where his neck joined his shoulder. She clutched the leather adorning his shoulders desperately.

“Not today,” he murmured into her hair and she almost laughed even as her lungs were hurting, “I promised I’d find you”

He slowly and with great reluctance set her down on the ground again. She turned toward Jon who was clutching a corpse to his chest. The silver head lolling backwards as he rocked back and forth. Hesitantly she placed a hand on his shoulder and he turned to her. Part of her wanted to deny she’d done it, though everyone would know it for a lie.

“I had to” she told him and he nodded. At a loss as to what to do she backed away from him. She wanted to offer him comfort but she couldn’t do that. Not when she was the reason for his grief. Well… she wasn’t the root cause of it, Arya would never had killed the Mad Queen if she hadn’t started burning the entire city after they’d surrendered.

She was standing next to Gendry again and he had an arm around her, keeping her tucked into his side. He didn’t seem to have sustained any serious injuries, he had a split lip and cuts on his hands but those were minor.

“We have to stop the slaughter, Jon” Ser Davos said as he laid a gentle hand on the kneeling man’s shoulder. Arya jerked at the words as she realised the Unsullied, Dothraki and probably quite a few Northmen were still murdering the innocent people of the city. She wondered what would happen after. There would be countless executions no doubt. Eddard Stark had never stood by as his own soldiers harmed anyone not wearing armour. Neither Sansa nor Jon would let it pass either.

 

They made their way towards the place where the gates to the city had once stood, the place where Missandei of Naath had been executed. Along the way they saw the frenzy of men, high on bloodlust, butchering anyone in their path. Women were pleading for mercy as they were raped in alleys. Jon tersely told the men who’d obeyed his orders of staying back, when the Mad Bitch started her vicious attack that, to put any man with his trousers undone to the sword. The soldiers had clearly not liked being ordered to cut down their friends, but followed through with it. Perhaps it was the look in Jon’s eyes as he gave it. Arya had never seen so much hatred in those brown orbs before.

Dothraki and Unsullied mostly refused any order given by Jon or Ser Davos even when told their Queen was dead. They followed Grey Worm and the man was still thrusting his spear into anyone who dared come near. Maybe if the man died, the Unsullied would cease their murderous pursuit. Or maybe they’d just have to wait the massacre out. None of the options were appealing. The former because Arya didn’t know if anyone was up to take the commander of the Unsullied on.

Everything and everyone suddenly stopped and turned toward the Red Keep when a deafening rumble sounded over the remains of Kings Landing. The Keep had been falling apart since the Mad Queen on her dragon started their attack on it, but now it crumbled. Towers were pitching into the sea and the walls that had somehow remained standing fell inwards. It was like the whole castle gave out all at once, collapsing in a mountain of stone.

Gendry who had been by her side suddenly left it. It felt as if time had slowed when she saw him pull the war hammer from its place on his back and swung it in a great arch, the sickening crunch that should have been heard when it connected with Grey Worm’s unprotected skull was drowned by the thunder of rock tumbling.

 

After their Commander had fallen, the Unsullied had either laid down their weapons or fallen upon them. She didn’t quite understand why they’d end their lives like that… perhaps they knew they’d be put to death afterwards anyway. Arya didn’t care much, they were dead and that was all she wanted.

Outside the walls there was an eerie calm. Those who had been lucky enough to escape were staring at the burning city. Tyrion Lannister was staring too, a look of utter horror etched into his features.

“Jon… I’m so sorry… there was no other way” she wanted to say so much, but there was no time.

“I know… you… you did the right thing” he came up to her, where she stood side by side with Gendry. For a moment she held her breath and then her brother was holding her. Her own arms wrapped around his waist and she breathed in his scent.

“What do we do now?” she asked as he let her go, they’d never discussed what would happen if the Daenerys Targaryen should fall. Jon had been so adamant he didn’t want the crown he hadn’t really allowed for any discussions at all. Sansa surely had some kind of plan, one that would put Jon on the Iron Throne… but the blasted seat didn’t even exist anymore.

“I don’t know” her brother – cousin – answered and he looked as lost as she felt.

 

In the end it was decided that Jon, Ser Davos, Tyrion Lannister and the remains of the army would stay in the south for the time being. Arya had asked why Lord Varys wasn’t there and was met with a telling silence. She’d never liked the man, but she respected his dedication to the Realm and its people.

The arduous task of taking caring for wounded and collecting the dead began as soon as the flames were extinguished by a heavy summer rain and the survivors; Lannister soldiers, Northern soldiers and those that had lived in King’s Landing alike. Arya had gone for the Red Keep to find Sandor Clegane. She and Gendry found him under crushed rocks… or rather what was left of him. They only knew it was him because his charred body lay close to another that could only be The Mountain. At least he’d gotten his wish of killing his brother. It would take years to rebuild the city, if it was worth the bother, and weeks before the ruin was cleared. No one knew what had become of the Lannister-bitch and her twin brother yet. Some said they’d escaped together to go to Essos, others said they’d been crushed under the rubble and then there were those who claimed they’d killed each other before being crushed. No matter the truth, they were no threat to anyone anymore.

A fortnight after the battle Jon told Arya and Gendry to return to Winterfell with enough men to escort the bodies of the Northerners home. Arya had protested at first, not wanting to leave him alone in the south and he pointed out that Tyrion Lannister and Ser Davos would be with him. The surviving Lannister soldiers also seemed happy enough being ruled by a man who had made every effort to stop the madness after everything went to shit.

 

Riding through the north was different when you had a procession of wagons laden with dead men wrapped in sheets. The solemn faces of the townsfolk was their welcome and Arya struggled to keep her eyes forward. At least they’d know that the Dragon Queen who’d been the cause of their loss this time was dead along with her terrifying children. Jon had sent a raven to Sansa as soon as he’d been able to get his hands on a quill and parchment. Arya wondered if it was really necessary as Bran would surely have been watching.

Her sister greeted them at the gates with a face so pale it was almost white. Neither of them said anything as they held each other, not caring that their people were watching. Northerners were hard as steel but they had always put family first.

“Where is Sandor?” Sansa asked, her eyes searching in vain for the man with a burned face. Arya was taken aback by the question, or rather the phrasing of it.

“He killed his brother” Arya hoped her sister would understand, and by the anguish that flashed through the Tully-blue eyes, she did.

“That’s what he always wanted to do” Sansa whispered and Arya wanted to comfort her sister, but Sansa straightened her back and slipped back into the part of Lady of Winterfell. Her sister started giving orders for the corpses to be washed and laid out on the funeral pyres. They’d seen them as they arrived and it was a relief that the ordeal would be over and done with so soon.

 

Once again the smoke from pyres rose above the walls of Winterfell. Sansa stood in the middle with Arya and Bran to either side and watched the flames engulf their people. The greatest tragedy was that most of them had died needlessly. They’d died because they had butchered unarmed men, women and children. Jon had sent a raven explaining it all to Sansa and Bran had supplied some additional details. There had been no mention of it in the speech the Lady of Winterfell made before the pyres had been lit. There was no need to salt already sore wounds among the families grieving their dead.


	12. The Worst Wounds Are Those Not Seen

“We need to talk” Sansa said to Arya as she turned her back on the funeral pyres that had finally gone out. Arya had no doubt that each and every person, high and low, in the North prayed it would be the last for quite some time.

“We do” Arya agreed and to her surprise, Sansa bid Gendry come with them. He looked confused, as he always did when someone wanted to include him in talks. Gendry pushed Bran’s chair as they made their way to the Godswood, Sansa was flanked by Ser Brienne and her squire, Podrick Payne. Eyes followed them as they made their way across the yard and Arya felt her heart in her throat as the Godswood came nearer. She hadn’t felt anything of the sort before they’d left Winterfell for King’s Landing, but now she felt the fear from over a moons turn ago. She had to remind herself that the dead were dead, and they would remain that way.

Standing under the Weirwood tree made her skin crawl and a flash of unnatural blue eyes came to her mind. Bran, the three-eyed raven, was looking at her like he could see her thoughts as they played out but he said nothing. He rarely spoke unless he had to say something that would turn the whole world up-side-down.

“Ser Brienne, would you please see to it that the maids have my sister’s chambers prepared?” Sansa politely asked the Lady Knight, an odd request of a sworn shield.

“At once My Lady” Ser Brienne of Tarth left with Podrick in tow without questioning the Lady she served.

“That’s not something a sworn shield would do” Arya stated, looking at her sister with narrowed eyes.

“No, it is not, but I had to get her away for what I’m about to tell you. She may as well get to do something useful” Her sister’s response was even queerer than her quest for Ser Brienne.

“Why?” It was Gendry that asked and three pairs of eyes turned to him, which made him fidget.

“Jon sent a raven from King’s Landing,” Sansa said and Arya’s heart sank.

“Why would you need your sworn shield to leave to tell me that?” Arya was still bewildered.

“She already knows, but I didn’t want her to have to hear us talk of it” a look of sympathy crossed the beautiful features of her sister.

“Talk of what?” her patience was quickly running out.

“They found the remains of Jaime and Cersei Lannister in the ruins of the Red Keep, six days ago” there was something almost gleeful about the way Sansa announced it and Arya was reminded of how the big woman had spoken up in favour of the King Slayer when he arrived to join their ranks.

“How?” Arya asked.

“As Jon tells it, it looks like Jaime Lannister stabbed his sister with a dagger and then himself” Sansa rubs her hands in front of her as if she can’t quite contain her joy at the news.

“Seven Hells…” Gendry breathed as Sansa managed to suppress her delight, at least a little bit.

“There’s one more thing” Bran interjected and Arya trained her eyes on him.

“Ah yes… before you left you made me promise to do everything I could to protect him,” Sansa nodded towards Gendry, “and Bran has seen something I think will relieve both of you”

“Well, out with it, then!” Arya was starting to feel the fatigue cloud her mind. They’d barely rested on the road north and once they arrived they’d burned the bodies as soon as they could be laid out on the pyres. Perhaps it was all the tiredness from the past moons, maybe years, which was starting to set in. She hadn’t rested well since her father took her and Sansa south.

“Gendry’s not the only Baratheon bastard still drawing breath” Sansa had a very satisfied smile on her face as both Arya and Gendry inhaled sharply.

“I thought Cersei had them all killed” Arya’s mind was slower than normal, and she couldn’t think straight.

“This one, an Edric Storm, was hidden away in Dorne for years. Bran has seen him,” Sansa barely glanced at Gendry whose bewilderment was written all over his face, “he’s on his way to King’s Landing with an envoy from the Martells”

“And… is this good… or bad?” Sansa huffed with impatience at the question Arya had posed.

“It’s great, actually. His mother was a Florent, the family with the strongest claim to High Garden after the Tyrells” Arya had never paid attention to her lessons on the houses of the south. They’d never interested her when she was a girl.

“What does that matter?” she asked and Sansa rolled her eyes.

“Arya, I will forgive this lapse of wit, but you really should learn the history of the houses” Sansa held a hand up when Arya was about to object to the slight, “It matters because if Jon legitimizes Edric Storm and names him Lord of Storm’s End and the Stormlands, he will not only gain the support of those still loyal to the Baratheons, he will also gain the support of the Florents”

“Oh” both Arya and Gendry said and Sansa’s pleased smile broadened.

“They will have to be loyal to Jon…” Sansa’s tone suggested she had spent much time thinking about it all.

“But Jon doesn’t want the crown” Arya abruptly said and Sansa’s smile fell.

“He may not want it, but he will be crowned. He’s the only one who could keep the Seven Kingdom’s together. He’d be a just ruler” her sister’s voice was sad, but there was steel underneath.

 

Sansa was called away from them by a young boy bringing a message from someone, Arya had stopped listening at that point as sleep was claiming her.

“Take me to bed” she yawned into Gendry’s chest and he let out a breathless laugh.

“As m’lady commands” he said as he easily lifted her off the ground. How he was not sagging with exhaustion, she couldn’t understand.

“Shut up” she slurred, but nestled into him nonetheless.

“Should I have someone help you inside, m’lord?” Gendry asked Bran who declined, saying he would remain in the Godswood for a while.

Arya stayed awake, barely, as Gendry carried her all the way to her chambers. Their chambers. Without doubt the servants and small-folk alike stared at them. Having the Bringer of the Dawn carried like a child by a bastard smith was not something that was common, even if they did know the two in question had shared a bed since the battle against the dead was won.

She was barely conscious when she felt the furs tickle her cheek and Gendry started pulling at the belts and laces of her clothes. Her boots were pulled off with some difficulty and the corners of her lips lazily turned upwards as she heard him swear under his breath. She was asleep before he tucked her under the furs but in her slumber she pressed her body against his.

 

When Arya awoke hours later she felt content and the feeling was a foreign one. She knew there were still things to be figured out and they weren’t safe yet, especially not Jon who was still stuck in King’s Landing, but there was no dead army marching to kill them all, the Lannister-bitch was dead and the Mother of Dragons and her children were dead. It was the safest any of them had been since Robert Baratheon had named her father Hand of the King.

Gendry had wrapped himself around her while he was sleeping and if it were possible, she would never leave his embrace. The words she longed to say were clogged in her throat, fighting to make their way to her tongue. Carefully so she wouldn’t wake him she turned to burrow further into his warmth, her nose breathing in his scent at the hollow of his throat. He smelled like soot and fire, but not the suffocating kind filled with the smell of burned flesh that had haunted her since they left King’s Landing. It was the smell of a forge, the smell of the fire burning in a hearth.

He slurred something in his sleep but she couldn’t make it out, but it was filled with affection and accompanied by his arms tightening around her. Suddenly it was all overwhelming and her throat tightened in an altogether unpleasant way, like the Night King had his cold dead hand wrapped around it again. She couldn’t breathe and a sob escaped her. Tears pooled in her eyes and she couldn’t hold them back. What had started as a quiet sniffle turned into the kind of weeping that wreaked havoc through her whole body.

Gendry woke with a start at her wails and though still half asleep he rolled onto his back, never letting her go and she ended up resting on top of him. He didn’t say anything even as she screamed and got snot all over the front of the shirt he still wore. He just kept murmuring nonsense to her like she was a child, not a cold-blooded assassin who had once been _No One_. Years of pain that had been shoved to the side as she just fought to survive raged through her like wildfire.

“’s alright, ’m right here” the bull of a man whispered as he caressed her much like her Lady mother had done when she small. Her sobbing slowly subsided and her breathing evened out as suddenly as it had begun. The embarrassment she felt caused her cheeks to flush red, though he wouldn’t be able to see it as she hid her blotchy face in his chest.

“Don’t leave me” her voice was small and raw from the crying and screaming. Her hands clutched the front of his shirt so hard her knuckles turned white.

“I won’t” he promised, his voice thick with emotion and then he pressed his lips to the top of her head.

Their words meant so much more than just the promise of him staying, they contained all the things they hadn’t said yet. The light coming through her window was that of early morning, although it might not be so early since it was winter. She didn’t really think of it as a hesitant knock came through the door.

“Enter” she managed to get her voice to cooperate enough to make it loud enough for the servant to hear.

“Pardon me, m’lady…” a young maid, someone Arya didn’t recognise, said as she came in carrying a tray of food.

“Thank you…” she murmured as she gingerly sat up from her place on Gendry’s chest. The movement caused the furs to slip from her shoulders and the poor girl who’d set the tray down gasped as she saw the naked torso of the Lady Arya Stark. There weren’t many bruises, most of them having healed during the return north, but that only made the twisted scars adorning her body all the more obvious. Gendry gently brought the furs up around her shoulders.

“Would you please see to it that clothes for Gendry are brought here?” Arya requested to distract from her own nakedness and the maid made an affirmative sound before quickly leaving the chamber, leaving them alone again.

Blue eyes locked on the scars on her body, as they had in the forge. Unlike that time a little over two moons ago, Arya felt the need to cover the ugly ridges.

“Don’t” his voice harsher than he’d probably intended as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Don’t they bother you?” she wasn’t ashamed of them, but she was curious. Most men didn’t want a woman with such marred skin.

“They do” he confessed and he had that look in his eyes again. The one that was soft and hot and adoring all at once.

“Why?” they didn’t particularly disturb her, maybe because they reminded her of the fact that she had survived so much, despite the Many-Faced God seeming determined to claim her.

“’Cause someone hurt you” he said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“They tried to kill me. They didn’t” she took a small amount of pride in that fact.

“No…” he took one of her hands and brought her palm to his lips. She shivered at the feel of his lips and beard against the rough skin.

“The bodily pain was much easier to bear than the pain of losing father, Sansa… Yoren and Lommy, you, mother and Robb… Bran and Rickon… Sandor…” there were tears in her eyes again and she tried to wipe them away but Gendry caught her wrists in his hands.

“You don’t have to hold it back anymore, Arya” his voice was so gentle she barely heard it. The anguish washed over her like a wave and salty tears ran down her cheeks again. This time she didn’t make much sound, the tears just kept flowing and Gendry rubbed soothing circles on her back when she laid down again.

 

The maid had returned and left clean clothes for Gendry at the foot of the bed and had been out the door as quickly as had been possible. They sat with their backs against the headboard, close enough that their legs were pressed together as they broke their fast on the assortment of foods that had been brought to them.

“We should bathe” Gendry muttered as he looked at her, a fine layer of dust covered her skin and her hair was matted. He wasn’t much better off.

“We should” she agreed after licking her fingers clean.

Gendry got out of bed first and pulled his dirty trousers on before offering her a hand to pull her up and she let him. With him, she’d realised, she didn’t have to be unbreakable and she didn’t have to hide behind her calm and collected mask. It would take some getting used to, but she would get there. Eventually.

She rifled through her trunk of clothes and chose a clean pair of trousers, a woollen tunic and a leather jerkin that had the Stark family sigil embroidered on it. She had never seen it before but guessed it was a gift from her sister. Sansa truly was gifted with her own needles.

Gendry knelt at her feet and pulled her boots up even if she didn’t need the help. She felt like she was fraying at the edges and his doting soothed the turmoil that kept threatening to swallow her again. He knew who she was, knew what she was and what she was capable of much better than anyone else, except Bran who could find out anything about anyone. He wasn’t doing it because he thought her unable, he did it because he wanted to.

He held her hand tightly in his and she clutched his as if her very life depended on it. In some ways it did, because the storm of emotions too complicated and intertwined to name still raged inside her and his touch reminded her of where she was. The feel of him kept her from slipping into the memories she had suppressed for so long. She felt like she would drown in the horrors her mind would force her to relive if she could not hold onto him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going to be longer but I decided to split it in two.
> 
> I still wonder at how most of the characters still function in the show/books with all the trauma they've been through. Obviously Dany has snapped but it's astonishing that no one else has had a complete breakdown.


	13. Loving Hands To Soothe An Aching Soul

Arya stared up into eyes that reminded her of the blue sky above Braavos as she grabbed the hem of his dirty shirt and pulled it up, revealing his naked flesh to her. She was too short to get it all the way off and huffed with frustration. Gendry laughed at her before helping her pull it off so it could land on the floor, forgotten.

“Fair’s fair, m’lady” he japed as he pulled the nightshirt he’d somehow managed to get her into the night before off in one go, leaving her naked except for the boots. She shivered, not from cold but from the way he looked at her. He’d looked at her like that a lot since that night in the forge but it had been tempered by the knowledge that they were unlikely to survive for much longer. The wars were done with now though and the intensity of his gaze made her knees want to give out.

“I wouldn’t call this fair” she said, pointedly looking at his trousers. His chuckle turned into a deep groan as her hands grazed his covered cock when they set to work on the laces. His hands went to her hips before travelling up to cover her breasts, his touch caused another shiver and a moan low in her throat. The sensation of his hands, toughened by a life spent in a forge, distracted her from her task of getting the string holding his trousers up undone.

He bent down and pressed his lips to hers, his tongue peeking out to trace her lower lip before he gently sank his teeth into it. She tried to follow as he straightened, raising to the tips of her toes but inevitably their mouths parted and left her with a sense of loss. Gendry backed away from her completely before he got his boots off and then his trousers before he stepped into the spring. Arya took the moment to really appreciate his body from behind. He did have a very attractive arse.

When he turned around he raised an eyebrow at her with a knowing smile. He’d definitely caught her staring. He wasn’t much better though, his eyes didn’t hold hers for very long as she stood in front of him in only her boots. His gaze travelled up and down her body, different emotions so clear depending on where he looked. When he looked at her scars there was pain and sadness mixed with admiration, when he looked at her breasts with hardened peaks or the curls between her legs there was want and when he looked at her face there was _love_. It felt strange and intimidating to name the feeling.

She bent to pull her boots off and took his extended hand when she stepped into the water. The water lapped at the underside of her breasts and Gendry was towering above her. Gendry brought the hand he was still holding to his lips and kissed it, sending a spike of pleasure through her. His eyes captured hers and she was unable to look away as he sank his teeth into the heel of her thumb, swiping his tongue over the marks they left behind. She stepped closer and felt his hard cock nudge her stomach. Gendry hissed and Arya smirked, she liked being able to elicit such pleasure in him by barely touching. The first and second time they’d been together had been fuelled by the belief that they wouldn’t be alive for much longer. This was different. This was driven by raw desire and a flickering flame of hope. He’d brought her pleasure with his fingers and mouth at the inn and she longed to return the favour, the want to taste him on her tongue was disconcerting but she didn’t question it.

“You’re beautiful” he whispered as he placed kisses along the inside of her arm, pulling her so close she was pressed against him in the process. They both groaned at the feel of his cock being trapped between them.

“Liar” she breathed as his other hand grabbed her arse cheek.

“You are and I love you” his words had her breath catch in her throat before she pushed off the bottom of the spring to kiss him. He let go of her wrist to keep his balance and as she snaked her arms around his shoulders, his came up around her waist.

“Stupid bull” she muttered between kisses and she felt his smile against her lips. He shifted slightly as she wrapped her legs around his waist, trying to get closer to him still. The movement brought a growl from her as it caused her nipples to rub against the sparse hair covering his chest.

“Arya” the way he said her name made her kiss him harder. When she pushed her tongue against his she was reminded of what he’d done at the inn, the way he had brought her over the edge. Her cunt clenched and she felt unreasonably empty. One of his hands slid up her back and stopped at her neck, keeping her from moving away from him. She would normally resent any restriction to her ability to move but this was an exception. And it wasn’t like she wanted to leave his arms anyway. The friction against her nipples kept sending heat to her throbbing core, she could feel the flow of her own blood between her legs.

“Gendry” she gasped as he shifted again and his cock nestled against her cunt, unintentionally rubbing up against the nub that made the pleasure spark. Their moans mingled together as he took a few steps to press her against the wall of the spring. She leaned back against it, leaving some space between their bodies. The hand that had held her neck never left her skin as it made its way to cup her breast again.

Not content with giving him so much power, Arya slip one hand down his front and her fingers encircled his stiff member. The way his eyes immediately went to watch her hand would have made her laugh if it weren’t for the way it made her feel. She started sliding her hand up and down, feeling the silken skin covering the hard flesh. His breathing became more laboured as she twisted her wrist when she reached the head and he pinched a rosy peak in response to her tightening her grip just a fraction.

Her fingers that weren’t wrapped around his cock was holding onto his neck as his lips left hers to leave a trail of kisses down her jaw and to her throat. The marks from the Night King were still visible and he traced them with his mouth, his beard pleasantly scratching at the sensitive skin. His hand travelled lower, idly tracing the scars interrupting its way, until it found her centre that had become slick with her craving for him. A particularly deep groan left him as he touched her so intimately and Arya threw her head back as the pad of his thumb rubbed slow circles on the bud that made her whole body bow with need.

She struggled to keep her eyes open as he slipped two fingers inside her as his thumb kept making those circles. Her hand was still giving him pleasure but her rhythm faltered as he crooked his fingers inside her and the sensation brought more moans from her.

“Gendry… please” she gasped as he brought her closer to that edge. She had to let go of his cock as the flames inside her rose higher and her guttural moans turned into high pitched noises that could have been mistaken for being in pain. She fought it while trying to hold onto his slick skin, she couldn’t find any purchase and her instinct to close her legs was hindered by the fact that his waist kept them apart. She couldn’t control the way her hips were bucking, whether to get closer to or away from his touch, she didn’t know. Her whole body froze as the pleasure ran white hot through her veins.

Even after the blinding wave of satisfaction had faded, her body didn’t stop trembling. It felt so good it almost hurt and she wondered why it was even more intense than at the inn. The lack of pending death and fear could be part of it. Gendry was watching her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered and bent forward to claim her mouth again. She slipped her hand down and took him in her hand again, guiding him so he could push inside her. She needed him to fill the emptiness. She craved being as close to him as it was humanly possible to be.

Grey eyes held blue as he entered her, he didn’t stop until their hips were flush against each other. The stretch was still unfamiliar but brought nothing but a deep satisfaction. He pulled back and then pressed inside again, his hips keeping a steady pace as he pulled her body up against his. Her own hips started moving with his and every slide up and down caused made her hardened nipples rub against his chest. Her hands came to rest on the back of his head, nails scraping against his scalp. His hands held onto her arse, massaging the muscles as he helped her move against him. His mouth found hers in a messy kiss that she eagerly returned.

“Arya” he moaned her name over and over and she felt more like Arya Stark than she had in a long time. Him calling her name while he was lost in his own pleasure made her forget about being _No One_ , it made her forget about all the names and faces she’d worn. The way his cock was slamming into her was a repeated assertion that they were alive. As his rhythm started failing, she bit the juncture of his neck and shoulder, sucking on the salty skin. He thrust into her one last time and then his body stilled. His hot seed spilling into her. She hadn’t been brought to that glorious peak again, but she didn’t mind one bit. She felt more like herself and more connected to him than she’d ever had.

He didn’t let her go and she could feel him soften inside her, his face pressed into her neck. Some of his seed leaked out of her and some part of her thought she should see the Samwell Tarly who still acted as the Maester of Winterfell to get a dose of moon tea. Another part of her thought it wouldn’t be so bad to carry a babe when Gendry would be the father. She’d never wanted to be a Lady and she’d never actually thought about being a mother. When she was younger she had thought the two as inseparable. Her father had told her she would rule her husband’s castle and carry his sons and she had resented the implication that it was all she would do, all she would _be_. Gendry would never deny her the freedom to be who she was, he’d never make her stay knitting by a fire while he went off to do Lordly things. She’d never have to see to all the duties of a Lady when she was with him. They could simply be Arya and Gendry, and if ever a child would take root… well… she’d cross that bridge when she got to it.

 

They’d washed much more efficiently than the last time they visited the springs once they had the inclination to disentangle their limbs. They dressed and they both noted that the clothes that had been brought for Gendry fit him well. Arya made a mental note to ask Sansa about it, for it was surely her sister’s doing.

The walked close side by side, to her chambers where she strapped Needle and the dagger to her waist. Gendry kept one hand on the small of her back as they walked through corridors leading them outside into the cold winter air. At the far end of the courtyard Sansa was speaking with Lord Yohn Royce who’d become one of Sansa’s most trusted advisors. Arya didn’t know the man well but his refusal to defend Little Finger and his honest counsel to not trust Daenerys Targaryen had convinced Arya that the man wasn’t a fool and if Sansa trusted him even just a little, that was enough for her.

She met Sansa’s eyes and though her sister was very good at hiding it, Arya knew she had not slept much and she had been crying.

“I’ll be in the forge… Lady Stark” Gendry excused himself and left her after placing a tender kiss to the top of her head and bowing to Sansa.

The two Stark women watched him go and disappear through an archway before they made their way up to the battlement they had stood on while they waited for the Night King’s army. Where Arya had given her older sister a knife, repeating the first lesson she’d been given by Jon.

“I envy you” Sansa told her while staring off into the distance. Snow covered the ground outside Winterfell’s walls.

“He’s stupid… but I love him” Arya confessed and a blush crept onto her cheeks.

“I think I might have loved Sandor… I wish I could have had the chance to find out” her sister said the words with resignation.

“He was a far cry for those knights and princes you used to moon over” it was bizarre to think that the Lady of Winterfell who had fed her vile husband to his own hounds was the same Sansa who’d fawned over Joffrey.

“I was a stupid girl… when I was in King’s Landing I realised that those I thought to be monsters, were the best of them all” Arya had heard some of what Sansa had survived and she marvelled at it. Her sister was right when she said Arya would never have lived through it. She’d have said something and gotten her head cut off, just like their father had. Standing by her sister’s side, Arya took the older woman’s hand in hers and held it tight. She wished someone would offer Sansa the same comfort that Gendry gave her.

“I hope you won’t marry for another political alliance” Sansa jerked at the words and Arya knew that the issue had already been brought up. She didn’t know who may have been considered, she didn’t know who was still alive to be an option.

“I’ll have to… If I don’t, you would have to and we both know you’d be a widow before the bedding unless the groom is Gendry” the attempted jest made guilt rise like bile in her throat.

“I’m sorry” she offered but Sansa only shook her head.

“Don’t be. I will be the one who decides who I take for a husband. I will not leave Winterfell again, my husband will either have to live here or visit only long enough to put a child in me” oddly enough Arya thought her sister actually thought the arrangement a good one.

“If he, whoever he is, ever hurts you, I’ll stick him with the pointy end. Consequences be damned” Sansa laughed at that and it assuaged the guilt turning in her stomach like an angry snake.

“Unless I feed him to the hounds first” when Arya found out what her sister had done to Ramsey Bolton she hadn’t believed it at first, but now she had no doubt that the Lady of Winterfell would follow through with such a threat.

“Have you had any words from Jon?” Arya asked as she watched the men and women lug carts of stone and wood and grain through the gates.

“Not yet. I’m fairly certain the Martells will want to strike an alliance through marriage… I’m not sure who they would offer but an alliance with Dorne is essential” the way Sansa would instantly analyse the situation was reminiscent of Little Finger.

“It never stops, does it?” Arya pondered with a deep sigh. The world had nearly ended and still the prominent families of the Realm squabbled over a damned chair.

“No,” the wind caught strands of unbound red hair, “but maybe Jon could be the person to change things. To bring peace. Men have followed him because they respect him, not because they want gold or favours”

“Maybe” she agreed. She believed Jon could be the one to keep the Seven Kingdoms from tearing each other apart, as long as he didn’t get himself murdered for the crime of being too fucking noble and good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last episode is upon us like a huge black cloud and I wrote this because I needed to before it airs. I don't think I'd be able to write it after seeing how this season ends. I am foolishly hoping it won't be as disappointing as episodes 4 and 5. I'm not optimistic though.


	14. A King Will Always Need Allies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... the finale happened... Can we please pretend it didn't? I hated pretty much all of it, except Sansa being named Queen in the North.
> 
> This chapter just didn't want to be written and I may rewrite it at some point. I honestly think the last episode has given me writers block.

Arya and Gendry were breaking their fast in the Great Hall when Sansa entered, holding a scroll in her gloved hand. Her red brows were knitted in thought and Arya wondered what was disturbing her sister so early in the morning.

“What does it say?” she asked between bites of a loaf of bread.

“Jon will be crowned in a moons turn. He asks us to be present when it happens” Sansa said as she sat down, “he’ll be naming a lot of new lords and passing judgement on the Unsullied and Dothraki”

“What happened to them?” Gendry queried, surprising both of the Stark women.

“They’ve been held in temporary cells. It took a while to be able to round them all up. The men from Dorne helped with it” Sansa replied, not looking at Gendry as she reached for an egg.

“What will he do with them?” if it was up to Arya, she’d put each and every one of those cunts who followed the Dragon-bitch to the sword.

“He hasn’t decided yet. He wants my counsel before he decides anything” Sansa was peeling the egg as she spoke, some of her agitation showing in the way she did it.

“What will you say?” Arya knew her sister wouldn’t bay for blood, but she wouldn’t show more mercy than she had to either.

“I’ll tell him to give them a choice. They can either stay under his rule, go back to Essos… or die” Sansa’s lips were a thin line and Arya got the feeling that if Sansa didn’t have to be the diplomat, she’d put every single Unsullied and Dothraki to the sword. Or feed them to hounds.

“They don’t deserve the choice… they slaughtered children in the streets simply for being born there” Gendry’s voice held more anger than Arya had heard before and she laid her hand on his arm. She could feel how tense the muscles were under the linen and skin. He’d likely spend hours in the forge, hammering steel into the shape he wanted, as he had taken to doing whenever his anger burned hot.

“They don’t… but we are not _her_ or _them,_ ” Sansa emphasised as she swallowed the last of the egg, “we are different. I doubt many of them will wish to remain. Maybe the winter storms will smash their ships and they’ll all drown”

“One can hope” Gendry muttered and Arya thought of the words of his father’s house, _Ours is the fury_.

“I will also suggest that you are knighted, Gendry” Sansa said, her tone much warmer than when she spoke of what remained of the Dragon Queen’s army.

“M’lady?” Gendry almost choked on the bacon he’d been chewing on.

“You have done more than most for the Seven Kingdoms and while you can refuse the Baratheon name, I do hope you’ll accept a knighthood you earned by your actions alone” Arya’s mind was racing. She didn’t want to be a Lady, but she couldn’t let Gendry slip from her fingers.

“I don’t…” Gendry was about to protest but Sansa held a hand up, silencing him.

“You _will_ accept it. You too Arya. I’m going to suggest you be made Lord of Bear Island. We need a loyal man to keep the Glover’s on their toes… and I think both of you would like it there. I know you want to stay in the North, Arya. This way… everybody wins” Arya just stared at her sister as the older woman sucked a crumb from her finger.

“I don’t want to be a Lady” she told her sister who just raised an eyebrow.

“Lyanna Mormont was Lady of Bear Island before she died. Did you think her a traditional Lady?” Arya hated when her sister was right.

“No,” she reluctantly admitted, “but she wasn’t married”

“I wouldn’t make you do any of those things you don’t like… you’d probably be a better Lord than me” Gendry interjected and Arya turned to him. He wouldn’t ever make her sit by the fire and knit as he went off to war. He wouldn’t expect her to subject herself to his every whim and fancy. Perhaps her reluctance to be a Lady was rooted in what she had seen her mother do, or the fact that every young man who’d been paraded before her and her sister had been arrogant cunts. Gendry wasn’t like any of the men she’d had the displeasure of being forced to make polite conversation with as a child.

“Arya… it would help Jon. You may not need many allies, but he does” Sansa was staring off into the distance, calculating moves and countermoves to actions others hadn’t even thought of yet.

“I thought you said I wouldn’t have to marry for alliances” Arya countered and she knew it was a weak argument.

“You wouldn’t. You’d marry him because you love him” it was Arya’s turn to almost choke on her food, “and Bear Island might be small, but it’s important that it doesn’t remain empty”

“Fine” Arya bit out and Gendry coughed. It wasn’t until she looked into his blue eyes that she realised she had basically admitted to loving him in the Great Hall for all the servants to hear, before she told him in private. And she’d agreed to marry him without him being consulted on the matter.

“Unless you have any objections, Gendry, I’m going to write to Jon that the wedding will be held in the Godswood of King’s Landing once his coronation is complete. The nobles won’t be happy about you two being married if he’s still a bastard. With the way you two are acting it won’t be long until you’re with child, so it has to be soon” Sansa spoke rapidly and Arya became paler while Gendry flushed redder at each word.

“I’m… m’lady” Gendry stuttered and it brought a pure laugh out of the Lady of Winterfell, something that had become rare.

“What about alliances in the south?” Arya asked to change the subject. The North would remain loyal to Jon, even if he was Aegon Targaryen. He’d saved their lives and while he may not actually be Eddard Stark’s son, he acted much like the deceased Lord.

“I’ve told Jon that a marriage to Arianne Martell would be the best choice. She’s the heir to Sunspear and it would ensure that Dorne remain loyal” Sansa seemed to be thinking out loud rather than actually speaking to them.

Arya didn’t know much about Dorne or the Martells, but she had heard about how the Sand Snakes had turned after Oberyn Martell died in his fight against The Mountain. Cersei had had them killed in revenge for the death of her daughter Myrcella.

“What about the other Kingdoms?” she asked and her sister leaned back in her chair, slouching in a rather unladylike manner.

“Uncle Edmure has retaken the Riverlands after the Freys were crushed. He will be loyal, if only because he knows that we are. The Vale is loyal to us too, I’ve been considering Robin Arryn as a match. Tyrion is Lord of Casterly Rock and the Westerlands. The Iron Islands might pose a problem but they don’t have enough men or resources to be much of a threat. Edric Storm being legitimised and made Lord of the Stormlands will indebt him to Jon… The Reach is the only one I’m concerned with” Sansa was rattling off the big houses and Arya couldn’t help but feel more and more impressed with her sister’s ability to keep track of all of them.

“What about The Reach?” she asked and speared a sausage on her fork while Gendry was staring at Sansa with something like awe.

“Apparently Tyrion promised High Garden to Ser Bronn of the Blackwater in exchange for not getting murdered on Cersei’s orders… I don’t know much about him but he used to be a sell-sword,” her sister frowned, “I suppose he’ll be loyal as long as he gets to keep his castle. I don’t think any of the smaller houses would follow him in rebellion”

 

Three day after the arrival of Jon’s raven, they were leaving for King’s Landing again. Arya was eager to see Jon but she hoped she wouldn’t have to make the journey south again for a long time after their return. They would stay until Jon was crowned and preferably married. Ser Brienne and Ser Podrick rode behind the Stark sisters with Gendry.

“You named Yohn Royce castellan while we’re gone” Arya said, it wasn’t quite a question.

“I did” Sansa seemed to trust the man as much as she would trust anyone not related by blood.

“How do you know he won’t betray us?” the thought had been gnawing at her. Bran was still in Winterfell but he wouldn’t be able to do anything should something happen.

“He won’t because he would never have come to our aid in the battle against the Boltons if he didn’t intend to be loyal to us” Sansa sounded so sure of it, Arya wasn’t so sure.

“But…” she started and Sansa turned to her with a smirk gracing her lips.

“I may also have reminded him of what happened to Ramsey Bolton… and that _you_ , dear sister, killed the Night King” Sansa turned forward again and rearranged her skirts that had been ruffled by the wind.


	15. There Is Always Truth In Wine

The travelling was easier than the last time and they reached the Crossroad’s Inn eleven days after they set out from Winterfell. As Arya slid down from her horse, she saw Hot Pie approach them, his giant frame impossible to miss.

“Arry! Gendry!” the man shouted as a greeting and he pulled both of them close when he came up to them. The hug was tight and not unpleasant but she was glad her injuries were healed.

“Hello Hot Pie” Gendry laughed as he patted their old friend’s back.

“Not so many of you this time” Hot Pie observed and his eyes went big and round as they landed on Sansa who stood with Ser Brienne and Podrick a short distance away.

“Let me introduce you to my sister” Arya smiled, she seemed to do that a lot lately, as she dragged the baker with her.

“You’re the one that told us Lady Arya was alive!” Podrick exclaimed before any introductions could be made and Arya was sure her own face mirrored the baffled expressions on both Gendry and Sansa’s faces.

“Oh! You remember… didn’t think you would” Hot Pie grinned from ear to ear at being recognised and Arya saw Gendry miserably failing to stifle a chuckle.

“Who is this?” Sansa politely asked as she studied the fat man.

“I’m Hot Pie” was his simple answer and a corner of her sister’s mouth twitched like she badly wanted to return the friendly smile.

“He travelled with me and Gendry when we left King’s Landing after…” Arya trailed off, they didn’t talk much of the day their father had gotten his head lopped off. They hadn’t had much time to talk about things that were in the past. Sansa was always busy trying to prepare the North and Winterfell for winter and an uncertain future. Arya wasn’t sure how to bring it up either.

“I’m Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell” Sansa held bowed her head and Hot Pie quickly bowed.

“You found her then,” he addressed Ser Brienne who only nodded, “well, let’s not stand out here. It’s bloody cold”

They followed Hot Pie inside and he jovially told two serving girls to get them food and drink. Both were quite young and had not been there the last time Arya visited.

“Those two are new” she observed and Hot Pie got a dark look on his face, one that felt so out of place to Arya that she wondered if this man wasn’t Hot Pie after all.

“They arrived some days ago. Said they escaped King’s Landing after the Dragon Queen burned the city to the ground,” he looked at Arya and then Gendry, “couldn’t turn them away”

“Of course not” Sansa agreed.

“There are sure to be many more like them… orphans… the things you hear about it here…” Hot Pie still had that angry crease on his forehead.

“At least she’s dead” Gendry huffed and his hand found hers.

“Wish I could’ve seen it” Hot Pie said as he gestured for them to sit at a table.

“How did you come to meet my sister?” Sansa asked as they sat and Hot Pie blushed crimson.

“I was gonna join the Night’s Watch, like Gendry… “ he cleared his throat and smiled sheepishly, “I tried to steal that sword of hers”

“You tried to steal her sword?” Ser Brienne looked shocked and Arya snorted.

“I did… she threatened to murder me. Said she liked killing fat boys, she did” Hot Pie said it all with such nonchalance that she might as well have been the very epitome of politeness. Arya felt slightly sick though, remembering the stable boy she’d killed to get away from the red Keep.

“Gendry intervened before I could do it. Asked if he’d sing like the steel he hit in a forge” she didn’t want to linger on the dead boy. Besides, he’d have taken her straight to Cersei if she hadn’t run him through.

“I thought she was a boy back then,” Hot Pie told Sansa, “didn’t know she was a girl until we got to Harrenhal”

There was a heavy silence between them at the table. Sansa, Ser Brienne and Podrick silently watching while Arya, Gendry and Hot Pie were lost in the unpleasant memories of the melted castle. The two girls came back with the promised food and drink, including a loaf of bread shaped like a dire wolf.

“Thank you” Sansa, ever polite, gave the two girls a coin each and they curtsied low before serving the soldiers who’d milled in through the door. Gendry had been quiet, looking at the two girls with that look he always got when he was thinking hard about something. His brows drawn together and lips a tense thin line.

“We should bring the children with us when we go back North” he said, out of nowhere and Arya’s heart softened. He’d been an orphan too and was a good man, of course he wouldn’t let a child starve in the streets of King’s Landing if he could do anything to prevent it.

“And where would they stay?” Sansa, who was always practical asked.

“You said you’d suggest to Jon… His Grace… to make me Lord of Bear Island. Most of the Mormont men are dead” his voice was thick and low, like he tried to hold back a storm of emotion.

“That’s… it’s actually not a bad idea,” Sansa conceded, “the North’s population is depleated as it is… we have a… surplus of food in the storages after two battles…”

“If any more orphans come here after we’ve gone north, you can send them to Winterfell” Sansa told Hot Pie who nodded. Ser Brienne was trying to hide her proud smile behind her tankard while Podrick was openly smiling.

 

She was sitting in the room Sansa had been given, sharing a flagon of wine with her sister. The companionable silence was comforting and something that would have been wholly impossible when they were children.

“You were lucky you know…” Sansa said, sipping her wine, staring into the flames dancing in the fireplace.

“Lucky?” she echoed, not knowing what her sister was getting at.

“You travelled with good people, at least for a time” she had, she supposed. Arya supressed a shudder at the thought of who Sansa had made her journey with. She’d seen how Little Finger had looked at Sansa and it made her skin crawl at the mere memory of it. Cutting his throat while he’d been begging for his life on the cold floor in the Great Hall had been a short lived satisfaction, but satisfaction nonetheless.

“I did… The Hound tried to take me to mother and Robb at the Twins, he knocked me out when I tried to fight the Freys at the wedding and then aunt Lysa died when he tried to take me to her” Sandor Clegane had been a man of hatred, but as much as he’d tried to deny it, he had a heart.

“When he left King’s Landing… during the battle of the Blackwater… he offered to take me with him” Sansa said and for a change the redheaded woman let her emotions show freely.

“Why didn’t you go with him?” Arya asked, frowning, Sandor had told her he tried to protect Sansa, but she hadn’t quite believed him back then.

“Because I was stupid and afraid. I thought I’d be safer in the Red Keep than anywhere else. I was still betrothed to Joffrey… I don’t know… but if I’d gone with him, I’d have stayed a little bird all my life… and he wouldn’t have been able to save you” Sansa sounded so sure that Arya couldn’t even begin to question it. There was no point to it either, it had already happened and nothing could be changed.

“Little bird?” she’d never heard her sister called that.

“It’s what Sandor used to call me…” there was a sad smile on Sansa’s face and chuckled.

“He used to call me little wolf-bitch” and they both laughed at that. Sandor Clegane, the most unlikely man to have protected anyone simply because he felt like it.

“What was he to you?” Sansa asked and Arya stared at the wine in her own cup.

“I don’t know… whenever we went somewhere with other people I would call him father… to avoid suspicions” she smiled at the memory of them sharing a meal with a man and his daughter, The Hound being annoyed by the other man’s piety.

“I think I loved him…” Arya’s head whipped around to look at her sister so fast she heard a pop coming from her neck, “at least I could have, if he’d come back again”

“I… I’m sorry I didn’t try to stop him” she didn’t know what to do with this situation. Had she known how Sansa felt, she would’ve at least tried to convince The Hound to abandon his revenge too.

“He wouldn’t have listened… the only way he would ever have been happy was if he killed his brother, at least he died knowing he did that” Sansa was right of course, the man’s only want in life had been wine and to kill The Mountain.

“What do you think mother and father would think if they saw us now?” Arya asked, not knowing if she wanted a truthful answer or a placating one.

“I don’t know… they’d probably be happy we’re even talking like this” it wasn’t quite an answer to the question she had posed.

“Do you think they’d… do you think they’d be proud of us?” she elaborated and Sansa sighed.

“I’m not sure, sometimes I don’t think I care. Little Finger may have been behind the scheme that started the war between us and the Lannisters… but they trusted so easily. Mother trusted Little Finger and Walder Frey and it got them both killed. She trusted him because she’d known them since she was a girl. And father… he never wanted anything to do with the politics of King’s Landing and he assumed he could act like he did when he was in the North” Sansa’s words were hard, but she could see the struggle her sister fought to even say them out loud.

“I wonder what Robb and Rickon would have been like… if they’d lived” thinking about her brother’s wasn’t as painful as it used to be. Maybe time had dulled the pain… or all the other pain had just overshadowed it.

“I wonder too… I don’t remember them that well” Sansa confessed.

“I don’t either, I just remember they took after the Tully side like you” she vaguely remembered red hair and blue eyes but she couldn’t picture them in her mind. Arya drained her cup and refilled it, filling Sansa’s as well when her sister held it out for her.

“So that blacksmith of yours…” Sansa got a mischievous look on her face, “he treats you well?”

“He does… if he didn’t I’d have killed him” Arya refused to look at her sister and blamed the blush rising on her cheeks on the wine.

“I’m sure you would… I’ve heard the servants talk about finding you in various stages of undress” sinking deeper into the chair, Arya took a swig from her cup.

“Well…” she couldn’t find the words.

“I’m happy for you… that you got to choose” Arya shivered at the thought of what Ramsey Bolton had put her sister through.

“I…” what could she say to that?

“You don’t have to say anything. The bastard got what he deserved in the end” Sansa looked like she meant it too. Arya wished she could’ve seen the hounds eat their former master too.

“He did” she agreed and reached out to lay her hand on her sister’s arm, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“You should go back to your room… I’m sure he misses you” Sansa had that almost impish look again and if Arya had to suffer some embarrassment to make it appear, so be it. Her sister rarely showed any emotion that was all her own anymore.

“He’ll manage without me for a while. Him and Podrick have been talking a lot lately” Arya didn’t know what they talked about but she was relieved that Gendry had found a new friend. He didn’t really have any of those in the North.

“I’m tempted to ask Hot Pie to come north with us… his bread is delicious” Arya was sure Hot Pie would be far too pleased by such a compliment from the Lady of Winterfell and future Warden of the North.

“You’ll have to fight me for him, I might ask him to come to Bear Island” she teased and it was so easy, almost like when they were children and their mother or Septa Mordane would scold them for bickering.

 

It was well into the night when Arya finally crept into the chamber she shared with Gendry. The moonlight that fell through the window lit his face and she could see the crease on his forehead. He didn’t have bad dreams that often, not when she was there he’d told her. The few times he did, he’d be almost completely still but that frown would always be there. She hadn’t asked what the dreams were about, there was no need. Hers were about the same things. Sometimes it was about the army of the dead, sometimes about dragons and flames and children burned alive, sometimes it was about Harrenhal, and the list went on. There were some nightmares they didn’t share, but it didn’t matter.

She undressed and crept into bed beside him, resting her head on his shoulder. She liked having his hot skin against hers, even when all they did was sleep. Gently she smoothed her hand over his face, smiling sleepily and a little drunkenly as the crease disappeared and he shifted so he could wrap and arm around her. No matter what position they’d fallen asleep in, they’d always wake up tangled up in each other.

“I love you, you stupid bull” she whispered and she wasn’t sure if her wine-fogged min imagined it or not, but she thought he opened his eyes and pressed a kiss to her temple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still fuming about the last episode but at least this chapter was a little easier to write.


	16. The Beginnings Of A New Life

King’s Landing still looked more like a pile of rubble than the magnificent city it had claimed to be. They had discussed having the coronation at Harrenhal instead, but Tyrion Lannister thought it appropriate that a just ruler was crowned in the remains of unjust killing. Arya didn’t quite understand why it mattered but Sansa had agreed. Arya felt sick as they rode through streets paved with rubble and blackened stone. She had promised Jon that she would attend, but the memory of the day Daenerys Targaryen had embraced her house’s words made her want to turn around. Gendry looked grim next to her and wordlessly reached his hand out for her. She took the offered hand without looking at him.

There was people gathering by the side of the streets as they made their way to the ruins of the Red Keep. Surprisingly there was still a portion of it standing and the work to repair it could be seen. Arya didn’t know why they’d bother, the place held so many atrocious memories for every person still drawing breath in the Seven Kingdoms.

“I fucking hate this place” Gendry muttered and gripped her hand tighter. She looked at the men, women and children staring at them with some suspicion. Arya couldn’t blame them, those who lived in the wretched city had every reason to distrust nobles. Gendry was looking at the children who didn’t cling to the skirts or trousers of grown men and women, and she felt her heart clench uncomfortably.

“So do I” was the only thing she could say and she wished she could press her body against his.

 

The closer they got to the ruined keep, the harder it was to breathe. She could see the path she had taken to the place where she’d driven Needle into the heart of the Dragon Queen. If she never returned to the city again, it would still be too soon. She couldn’t see her sister’s face but she saw the tension in the tall woman’s shoulders and she wondered what was going through her mind. Sansa had spent years in the Red Keep as a hostage. Her sister had told her bits and pieces of it, but she was sure Sansa hadn’t told her everything. Just like Arya hadn’t revealed all details of her time away.

She could see Jon at the top of the stairs, waiting for them. Tyrion Lannister and Ser Davos flanking him. They hadn’t talked after the battle was truly over. He’d said she did the right thing, and she knew he truly meant it, but it was hard. They were not the people they had been as children and never would be again. None of them were.

Podrick Payne helped her sister down from her mount and her sister gingerly righted herself. She hadn’t made such a long journey on horseback in a while. Truth be told even Arya felt sore after it. When she looked up after dismounting, Sansa had already enveloped Jon in a tight hug, not caring how it would look to those watching. _Family, Duty, Honour_ were the words of House Tully and Sansa was the embodiment of them. Ser Brienne and Prodrick were standing with Ser Davos and Tyrion Lannister.

Arya approached her brother – cousin – much slower, not knowing what to do or say. She looked up at Gendry when he placed a reassuring hand at the small of her back. At times she wondered how she’d let herself become so attached and dependent on the man, she’d learned long ago that she could only rely on herself is she was to survive. But she wasn’t fighting for survival now, she was fighting to live, and maybe living involved being committed to other people. Maybe, to truly live, one would have to love. She pushed such thoughts away more often than not. She could practically hear Sandor Clegane snorting with a derisive sneer on his face.

“Jon” she whispered before the man with features so similar to her own took her into his arms. Holding her like he’d done in the Godswood in Winterfell.

“Arya” he replied, his voice muffled by her hair. He let her go and held his hand out to Gendry. The two men gripped each other’s forearms in greeting, saying nothing.

 

There was no great feast to welcome the future King’s sisters, but there was a smaller one. The envoy from Dorne was present and there were two figures that were unmistakable. One is the only woman in the envoy, sitting at the centre clad in rich silks and jewellery, Arianne Martell. The other is Edric Storm and the resemblance between him and Gendry could escape no one. His hair is longer and his beard larger than Gendry’s but only a blind man would miss the implications.

Arianne Martell is openly flirting with Jon who seems to grow more and more uncomfortable with it the longer it goes on. Sansa makes small talk with whoever sits next to her, occasionally throwing glances towards Jon and his intended. The betrothal hadn’t been finalised officially, but the very fact that the woman herself was present indicated that the deal was as good as done. Arya had a strong feeling that they could thank Sansa and Lord Tyrion for that.

Arya sat further down the table for guests of honour and wished she could get up and sit with Gendry who was surrounded by Northmen and a few Dornishmen. Their eyes met across the room and he raised his own cup in her direction with a small smile. She knew he didn’t want to be there any more than she did. There were other Lords present and all of them were painfully obvious in their attempts to suggest marriage alliances to both Arya and Sansa.

“You are very beautiful” a man well into his fourth decade said, she didn’t know who he was and didn’t much care. He smelled like that Dornish sweet wine that made her stomach turn unpleasantly.

“Hm…” she muttered, she’d never been good at handling this sort of thing with any kind of grace.

“I would be honoured to make you my wife” the more than a little drunk man said and she had to pinch herself to keep from throwing the contents of her own cup in his face.

“No thank you” she bit out, mustering every bit of politeness she could. Thankfully the man wasn’t so drunk he didn’t value his honour and slunk away after her short denial.

There were many other Lords or Lord’s sons who asked her to dance with them and she refused every single one of them. They had been told what she had done, that she’d ended the Night King, but the southern Lords treated her like she was a Lady from the songs. They tried to woo her like they would a fair maiden. Arya partly blamed Sansa for this as her sister had insisted she wear a gown. The gown was black, with dire wolves embroidered on the bodice. Sansa had made it herself and it was surprisingly comfortable. The fact that the skirt was easy to remove and covered a pair of trousers, and the dagger and Needle still being strapped to her hips made the whole experience more bearable.

 

The moment the feast was over, Arya had stood from her seat and left the hall. She’d wanted to talk to Jon but he’d been occupied by Arianne Martell. She still didn’t know what to make of the olive-skinned woman but at least she didn’t seem to be mad.

For appearances sake, at the insistence of all Jon’s advisors, Arya and Gendry were to sleep in separate chambers until their wedding and Arya resented it. She knew she wouldn’t sleep much at all in the coming weeks. But it was only little over a moon away. Jon would be crowned in a fortnight, then there would be the wedding to fortify the alliance with Dorne and after that they’d finally be able to return north. She sent a silent prayer to whichever God would listen that it wouldn’t take too long.

She sat by the window in the small chamber she’d been given and stared at the destruction outside of it. She was tired to her very bones but she knew sleep wouldn’t come. The bed was cold and empty without the warmth of the blacksmith next to her and if she closed her eyes she could only see all the horrors she’d witnessed and committed. The stillness of it all made it impossible to push the memories away.

 

She finally got a moment with Jon a week after their arrival. He’d let his advisors and Sansa arrange most things for the coronation and the terms for the marriage were being drafted somewhere in the Red Keep as they sat in her chambers. Gendry had left them alone, saying something about wanting to arrange for mother- and fatherless children to come north with them.

“We haven’t had time to speak since… since the battle” Arya was more uncomfortable than she thought she’d ever be in Jon’s presence.

“No…” he sounded so tired and she wondered if he got any sleep at all. He wanted none of this, but he would do his duty. He would be a good and just King and he would marry to ensure peace.

“You still think I did the right thing?” she asked, trying to hold on to some of _No One_ , to lessen the pain if he said no.

“I do…” he sagged in the chair opposite her and closed his eyes.

“I know you loved her… but I never understood why” she heard his sharp intake of breath while she stared at her hands.

“I… She spoke of breaking the wheel and creating a good world… her people chose to follow her” he was struggling for words and none of them answered her question.

“I know, you said that before… I’m asking why you loved her” she tried not to let her annoyance show. She knew at least some of the things that made her love Gendry, even if she couldn’t explain all of it.

“She was kind, she cared for the people that followed her… when we met at Dragonstone she was cold at first… unhappy that I wouldn’t bend the knee at once” a sad smile settled on his face.

“I’m sorry she wasn’t what you wanted her to be in the end” grey eyes met brown for a short moment, both of them turning away at the same time.

“Me too” he breathed and buried his face in his hands. He looked older than his years.

“You will be a good King… if you listen to your advisors” her poor attempt to console him made him laugh.

“I don’t want to be King” a trace of anger coloured his voice.

“I know, but you’re the rightful heir, and you are the only one who would put the Realm before yourself” she almost felt like she was cruel by saying it, but it was the truth.

 

During the week before the coronation more men arrived from Dorne with wagons and wagons filled with food and wine. Arya had other things than a coronation on her mind though. She had not bled when she expected to and she’d been feeling nauseous. Her breasts were tender and she was tired. She knew what the cause of it all could be, but she hesitated to confirm it. The possibility that there was a life growing inside her terrified her. Gendry would be more than pleased of course and any child would be lucky to have him as a father. She wasn’t so sure she’d be any good at being a mother.

A day before the day Jon would be crowned, she went to see Samwell Tarly who would be named Grand Maester and sit on Jon’s council. His wildling woman had remained in Winterfell as she was so close to giving birth and Sansa told her that Gilly had had the babe shortly after they left.

“Lady Arya” the fat man said when she entered the room he had made his temporary study. She didn’t bother telling him not to call her Lady. No one ever listened when she said it.

“I need you to confirm something” she tried to sound sure and confident even as her insides were knotted tightly.

“What would that be, My Lady?” he asked, looking at her with uncertain but searching eyes.

“I… I need you to… confirm if I’m with child” the words were difficult to get out and she stuttered and fumbled over them.

“I’m sorry?” he squeaked and she rolled her eyes. For a man who broke _two_ vows of celibacy, he was awfully shy about the subject.

“You heard me” she didn’t want to have to repeat the words. She wasn’t sure she could.

 

The Maester’s examination was horribly awkward, more so because the man was her brother’s closest friend. But in the end he had told her she was right, as she knew he would, and she had declined his offer of moon tea. She had thought about it and in the end decided that she wouldn’t snuff this life out. Not when it was her and Gendry who had created it. She’d asked him how far along she could be and according to the Maester the child would have been conceived roughly six weeks prior. That would mean it was at the earliest that time at the Crossroad’s Inn before the massacre of King’s Landing.

She was sitting in the Godswood, thinking about how she’d tell Gendry about it, when the man in question found her. He bent to kiss her and she closed her eyes, pressing up a little from her seat.

“Arya” he murmured and some of the warmth she had missed when he wasn’t in her bed returned. She’d barely slept since they arrived and the frown on his face made her think he saw that. He didn’t look much better though. They’d been kept apart for much of the time, whether by design or not she didn’t know.

“Gendry” his name barely above a whisper and she whimpered when he drew away from her.

“I’ve been looking for you” he told her as he sat down next to her.

“I need to tell you something” her voice wavered but as he slid an arm around her waist, some of the unease melted away.

“What would that be, m’lady?” he was looking at her with those open blue eyes with something like trepidation.

She knew he wouldn’t be angry. She knew he wouldn’t leave her. She knew he loved her. She knew all those things and still she couldn’t get the words out. Instead of speaking, she took his hand and placed it over her stomach, it wasn’t big enough for anyone other than herself to notice, but it would be soon. She kept staring at him as his eyes fell to where their hands rested, hers on top of his, and comprehension finally emerge on his handsome face.

“You’re… you’re sure?” he whispered almost reverently and she nodded.

“I’m sure… and I’m afraid” she felt so small when she said it. She knew how to kill and inflict pain, she didn’t know how to create a new life, certainly didn’t know how to care for a babe.

“I’m not” his voice calming the storm raging inside her.

“I don’t know if I can do it” she was staring into his eyes, looking for answers to questions she didn’t know.

“I know you can… you’re one of the fiercest people I know. You always protect your family” he probably didn’t notice that his hand was lightly stroking her stomach as he spoke.

“I’ve only known death for so long…” she’d only just started figuring out how to live without the constant drive for revenge. Gendry made it easier, he was her one constant, but there were still so many things she didn’t know what to do with.

“We’ll figure it out” he promised as he tucked her head under his chin. They sat like that until she fell asleep with her face pressed against his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I'm not sure how pregnancy confirmation works in Westeros but if Qyburn can animate a corpse, then I feel alright about early discovery. Especially since Arya is late.
> 
> I basically just needed to write some fluff so I can write more fluff later. I've been watching way too many Gendrya edits on youtube and they make me depressed because they remind me of the ending in the show and this is how I handle it.


	17. Heavy Is The Head That Wears The Crown

Every house, large and small, had someone present at the coronation. They all stood in the Godswood looking at Jon who faced the Heart Tree. There had been arguments about whether he should be crowned in the presence of the Old Gods or the New and it had finally been settled that it would be in front of the Old Gods. Sansa had pointed out in one meeting that the New Gods were the Gods of Targaryens and every tyrant that had come after them, the Old were the Gods of the Starks. The family who had always had a reputation for being fair. He’d also sworn his pledge to the Night’s Watch in front of a Heart Tree north of the wall.

The sun did not provide any warmth even if it was high in the sky and snow danced in the cold northern wind. The red leaves rustled and someone coughed. From where Arya was standing, she could see Jon’s profile, his jaw was tense and his eyes closed. He got to his knees and Samwell Tarly held the crown over his head. It was a new crown, a simple thing made of iron. Gendry had confided that he had made it and the pride he’d said it with made her smile.

“Now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall live and die at my post. I am the shield that guards the realms of men. I shall guard it with justice and mercy. I pledge my life and honour to the Seven Kingdoms. From this day, until my last” Jon spoke and a wave of hushed whispers went through the crowd. Everyone knew the words of the Night’s Watch and word had spread quickly about his tenure as the Lord Commander of it. It was Samwell Tarly who’d suggested the alteration of the ancient words as Jon’s coronation oath.

Samwell Tarly placed the crown on Jon’s head and she saw the sad smile on the fat man’s lips. All who knew her brother knew he never wanted this, his friend from the Night’s Watch better than anyone most like. Jon rose and turned to face the Lords and Ladies who had just become his subjects.

“Long live the King, long may he reign” Tyrion Lannister said, loud enough for everyone to hear and all present echoed the sentiment. Not all looked pleased, but no one looked outright dissatisfied about it. Arianna Martell who stood directly opposite Arya had an almost smug look on her face. Arya wondered if she thought she could bend Jon to her will. It wasn’t something she wanted to admit but if Jon came to love the woman, she probably would succeed. Unless Jon had changed after what happened with the Dragon-bitch.

 

Seeing Jon standing on the steps of the Red Keep, facing the survivors of the massacre and other small-folk who had come to see their new Kind, made her both proud and sad. He’d spend the rest of his life in the south… Jon had always belonged in the north and now he could never return for more than short visits with years going between them. He wouldn’t be her brother anymore. He’d be her King and cousin. Jon Snow would become Aegon Targaryen, no matter how wrong the name felt coming out of her mouth.

He was dressed all in black. Jon had balked at the suggestion that the sigil of House Targaryen be sewn onto his doublet. It was the only time he’d let his temper get the better of him in the two weeks she’d been in the capital. He hadn’t said it in words but Arya knew he despised the name he now had to wear.

“All hail His Grace, Aegon of House Targaryen and Stark, sixth of his name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm” Ser Davos proclaimed and a cheer erupted from the people at the foot of the stairs. From her position behind Jon, she couldn’t see his face but Sansa had sternly told him to smile. The tension of the shoulders under the fur cloak was obvious, at least they were so far away from the crowd they wouldn’t be able to see him properly.

“Good people of the Seven Kingdoms. I come before you as your Lord and King, and I swear that I will to the best of my abilities ensure that the Realm is ruled by justice and mercy. I will not allow the poor to be trampled by Lords, I will not allow wealth to dictate a verdict…” Jon took a breath, steeling himself, “I will not rule by my House’s words, _Fire and Blood_ will never be my guide. Those words have caused enough harm to the people, high and low. We are standing in the ashes of tyrants, but we will rebuild. We will build a better world for those who come after us. As a member of the Night’s Watch I was the shield that guard the realms of men. As King, I shall be your shield”

The hush that had fallen over the crowd as he spoke broke and there was joy in the shouting. Arya had unconsciously placed her hand on her belly and she looked at Gendry who stood next to his half-brother among the Lords. His eyes snapped to hers, then they landed on her hand and she too looked down. It was still strange to think that their child was growing inside her. She hadn’t told Jon or Sansa yet. She didn’t look forward to those conversations at all and had decided that she wouldn’t tell them until she and Gendry had been properly wedded and bedded. Two weeks, she wouldn’t be able to hide it much longer than that anyway. The maids who tidied her chamber would put two and two together eventually and gossip about it.

 

There was another modest feast, although not quite as modest as the welcome feast had been. She was sitting next to Sansa who sat next to Jon at the high table and watched the festivities. Jon did his best to at least pretend to be enjoying himself. Arianne Martell was on his other side and this time she wasn’t shamelessly flirting with him. Arya had come to respect the woman from Dorne, she’d proved herself to be quite clever and had made it clear that she would ensure that her home and people remained loyal, so long as their relative independence was not diminished. She hadn’t spent any time in the woman’s company but Sansa had spoken well of her.

“It’s almost time” Sansa whispered to her and Arya sat straighter up in her chair. The feast was where Jon – Aegon – would announce his council and give new titles as well as maintain old ones.

Arya listened to Jon as he announced his council. Davos Seaworth would be his Hand, Tyrion Lannister the Master of Coin, a former brother called Cotter Pyke of the Night’s Watch would be Commander of the Kingsguard, and Samwell Tarly would be Grand Maester. None of those were unexpected. A cousin of Yara Greyjoy would be Master of Ships, a woman called Asha who bore a striking resemblance to the Lady of the Iron Islands. An older man who’d come with the Dornish envoy, Areo Hotah, would be Master of War. Davos Seaworth, Tyrion Lannister and Samwell Tarly would share the title of Master of Laws.

Sansa was named Warden of the North, Tyrion Lannister was made Warden of the West, Robyn Arryn was made Warden of the East and Ser Bronn of the Blackwater was made Warden of the South. Jon didn’t look at all comfortable with the last one but he had little choice as Bronn was the new owner of Highgarden. In any case, if the former sell-sword would prove to be a problem, Arya would make sure there was an accident.

Edric Storm was legitimised and made Lord of Storm’s End. The man swore his fealty to the crown. There were other men who were made Lords and given the castles that had lost their liege lords in the wars that had torn the Realm to pieces.

“Gendry Waters,” Jon called out and Gendry approached the raised table, “For the great service you have provided by arming us against the dead and for your loyalty and bravery in battle, I name you Gendry of House Steelworth, Lord of Bear Island”

Arya barely contained her laughter at the name Gendry had been given. It was clear to her that Jon had taken Davos’ name and instead of _Sea_ he’d used _Steel_. It was an apt name to be sure. Gendry was the best blacksmith and he was the one who figured out how to turn the dragonglass into weapons that didn’t break.

“Thank you, Your Grace” Gendry bowed deeply, “I pledge my sword and loyalty to you”

The roar from the Northmen drowned the polite cheers from the others in the hall and Arya lifted her goblet high in the air. Sansa held hers just as high.

Jon sat down and for a brief moment Arya met his eyes and mouthed _Thank You_. He nodded with a lopsided smile and for that small instant, he was the brother who’d given her a sword instead of something more appropriate for a Lady.

 

The feast went on long into the night. Music and laughter echoed between the walls. It felt out of place in the ruins of a castle but somehow it also felt right. The dead were dead and the living had to move forward. Jon had danced with Arianne Martell and the woman had managed to bring at least one genuine smile out of him. He danced with Sansa too.

Arya watched with much amusement as the daughters of the houses almost threw themselves at Edric Baratheon. The man appeared to be enjoying the attention. There were some who approached Gendry and it took all she had not to laugh outright as he tried to fend them off. She wasn’t jealous, she knew him. While he looked like his father, he was unlike him in temperament. To be sure he was as fierce and bold as his father had been said to be, but he wasn’t as proud or changeable. Robert Baratheon had been a stag through and through, and the new Lord of Storm’s End was likely to be of the same cloth. Gendry would always be a bull. Strong, stubborn and steady.

As a blonde woman was pressing herself against his arm, she decided to take pity on him as his blue eyes searched for hers. She was wearing the dress Sansa had made for her again. Her sister had told her not to wear her leathers for the formal occasions in King’s Landing. The Lords of the South were, in her sister’s words _absolute sheep_ , but they needed them on their side and they couldn’t risk offending their _sensitive dispositions_ this early in Jon’s reign.

“My Lord” she said, Gendry’s and the blonde woman turned to her as she laid a hand on Gendry’s free arm, the one not pressed against a generous bosom.

“M’lady” the relief on his face brought a laugh out of her and he got to his feet so quickly the poor girl nearly toppled over.

“Would you care to dance with me, _Lord Steelworth”_ she teased and the corners of his eyes crinkled before he bent to kiss her hand.

“Certainly, _Lady Stark,_ ” he replied before he hesitated, “I don’t know the steps”

“Neither do I” she laughed and tugged him with her into the throng of dancing men and women.

They didn’t even try to follow the steps of whatever dance was meant to be danced. They hadn’t had much time to be close to each other since their arrival and the yearning in her body was intense. One of his hands would find her stomach from time to time and each time his eyes would fill with wonder. The fabric of her dress was much thinner than her usual layers of leather and the heat from his palm made her skin burn. She wanted his hands on her naked skin. When they lay together, she felt the most alive.

“How did it go with the orphans?” she asked as he pressed her closer to him.

“Well, I think. Lady Sansa helped arrange a place for them to stay until we leave… and carts and horses since most of them are too small to walk all the way” he placed a tender kiss on her temple and she reached up to cradle the side of his neck.

“They won’t have to live like we did… we’ll make sure of it” she whispered and he nodded. As she looked up into his eyes she saw unshed tears in them and she bit her lip. She was not going to cry at the feast to celebrate her brother’s coronation and peace finally being tangible.

 

Three days after the coronation the betrothal between Aegon Targaryen and Arianne Martell was announced. The wedding would be held the day before the wedding between Arya Stark and Gendry Steelworth. Arya had heard grumbling among Lords who had hoped to wed the Bringer of the Dawn but they had all fallen silent when she’d sent them withering looks.

 

Seven days after the coronation there was a less than pleasant task at hand. The Unsullied and Dothraki had been held imprisoned since the battle and it was time they were dealt with. They’d been held captive for quite some time, some of them had died from festering wounds, some had gotten the shits and died but there were still many left. And now decisions had to be made.

Jon had, as Sansa had suggested, given them the choice to remain as subjects, sail back to Essos or die. Most of the Unsullied chose to sail for the East. Some chose to fall on their own swords. Only a handful wished to remain in Westeros, building new lives. The Dothraki chose the east.

 

Two days before the impending royal wedding Arya sat with Jon and Sansa in the council chamber. They had some time before the gathering and it was likely the last time they would be together for years to come. The air was heavy and Arya didn’t know if her stomach wanting to turn itself inside out was because of the babe or the looming separation.

“I’ll miss you” Jon said and Sansa laid her hand over his. The hand that bore faint marks of a burn, long healed.

“We’ll miss you too” Sansa sounded like she was doing her best not to cry.

There wasn’t much else to say about them going their separate ways. Arya idly thought that it shouldn’t hurt as much as it did, they’d accepted that they’d never see each other again once long ago. The second time should be easier… but it wasn’t.

“What do you make of her?” Jon asked and neither Arya nor Sansa needed to ask who he was referring to.

“She’s clever. She knows how to rule. I wouldn’t say I _like_ her, but I think she’ll make a good Queen” Sansa answered and Jon sagged in his chair like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

“I guess she’s pretty” Arya supplied, she’d seen nearly every man salivate like a dog over a bone as they stared at their future Queen.

“What do _you_ think about her, Jon?” Sansa asked.

“She reminds me of someone I knew… someone I loved… a long time ago” Arya exchanged a look with Sansa. Jon barely ever spoke of his time in the Night’s Watch, only giving them the basic outline of meeting Samwell Tarly, going beyond the wall and fighting the dead.

“Who?” Arya’s curiosity got the better of her and Jon got a wistful look on his face.

“Her name was Ygritte… she was a wildling and I loved her… kissed by fire, she was” there was a longing behind the words. To Arya it seemed his heart was still with the woman, even if he had claimed to love the Dragon-bitch.

“What was she like?” Sansa was looking out the window as she asked the question and Arya realised that her sister had never had what she had dreamed of as a girl. Sansa had wished, more than anything, for someone to love and be loved in return. Instead, the prince her father had promised her to had turned out to be a monster and then the man who claimed to have loved her sold her to another monster.

“She reminded me of Arya back then… always teasing and fighting. She was fierce and brave. She saved my life when the other wildlings wanted to slice my head off for being a crow…” Jon covered his face with his unscarred hand and took a deep breath.

“What happened to her?” she knew she shouldn’t have asked the moment she did. Jon’s face contorted in pain.

“She died… when the wildlings stormed the wall… she died in my arms…” silence fell between them again and then the doors to the council chambers opened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm kind of speeding through the stuff in King's Landing because I'm shit at writing the political stuff.
> 
> I thought about making Bronn Master of Coin to keep it canon but honestly, no one would be stupid enough to do that.


	18. The Joining Of Houses

The day of the royal wedding was a mild one compared to others. The snow fell gently and there was some warmth in the sunlight. Arya sat next to Gendry in a smaller room where they broke their fast with Sansa and Jon. It was still strange to think that her bastard brother was her cousin and King of the Seven Kingdoms sometimes. Stranger still to address him as Aegon when they were in public.

“Lord Steelworth,” Sansa said as she beckoned one of her handmaids over to her, “I have something for you”

“What?” Gendry asked and went red in the face at his outburst. He still didn’t know how to act around her sister, much to Arya’s amusement.

“You’re a Lord now, you need to at least look the part while you’re here” Sansa acted like he hadn’t spoken at all and the girl placed a set of neatly folded clothes on a clean spot on the table.

“You’re too kind… I couldn’t accept such a gift” Arya peered over her cup to get a closer look at the gift.

“Yes, you can and you will. If it pleases you, you may consider it an early wedding gift” Sansa’s smile lit her entire face up.

“I… thank you” Gendry mumbled as he stood up to get a better look at the fabric.

“Before I forget, what will you use for a sigil? All Lords must have one” Sansa went on and Arya couldn’t help but think her sister had some kind of ulterior motive for the question.

“I haven’t thought about it…” Gendry admitted and Jon snorted. Jon still refused to have anything to do with the Targaryen sigil. The issue of the cloak he’d eventually put around the shoulders of Arianne Martell had been a hot one. The council had tried in vain to convince him to have a black cloak with a red three-headed dragon on it. Jon had declared that his sigil would be pitch-black and unadorned. Tyrion Lannister had complained that it would look like the Night’s Watch’s, but those grievances had fallen on deaf ears.

“It should be a bull… you’ve always been one” Arya remarked with a light and teasing tone, sparing a glance at Jon who was sullenly picking at a boiled egg.

“Doesn’t suit you though” Gendry said and blushed when the two sisters and their cousin all turned their heads toward him.

“Me?” Arya questioned.

“Yes, you… you’re going to be _Lady Steelworth_ ” he looked like he wanted to sink through the floor and it made Arya’s heart skip a beat.

“What about a hammer and a skinny sword?” Jon spoke for the first time since he’d greeted them as they’d sat down with him.

“That’s actually not a bad idea. Goes well with the name too” Sansa agreed and Arya groaned. She’d never thought her life would turn out like this. Discussing new sigils and names with her sister, betrothed and brother-turned-cousin.

“Now that’s settled can we get back to the food?” Arya grumbled and reached for another slice of bacon. She’d taken quite a fancy to it in the last two weeks. No doubt it was because of the babe growing inside her. The swell of her belly was still small enough to pass as a bloated one after too much food, but she and Gendry knew differently. She’d sworn Samwell Tarly to secrecy, not so subtly threatening to kill him should he tell Jon. The fat man had enough sense to know that Arya would make the threat a reality. He’d cautioned her that she shouldn’t spar anymore and she was a lot more irritable as a result. But she would protect the life growing inside her and if the price was not sparring, she would pay it.

“You’ve been eating a lot more lately” Sansa observed and Arya paused mid-reach for yet another piece of savoury meat.

“Well… Not having an impending battle or fighting just to stay alive has done a great deal for my appetite” she said, her whole body tense. She cursed her sister being as observant as she was. Thankfully, Jon did not seem to read the meaning behind Sansa’s words.

Gendry’s hand found her knee, as it usually did when he sensed her discomfort and she hated how much it soothed her. She loved it too. It took some getting used to, being touched with no hint of violence and intention to kill.

“I suppose” Sansa said, not looking like she believed it.

The door to the chamber opened, Tyrion Lannister walked towards them and Jon’s face darkened. Arya knew he didn’t want to marry the Martell heiress, no matter how much she reminded him of someone he lost long ago. She knew he didn’t want to be King at all. But he’d do his duty.

“Pardon me, but it is time, Your Grace” the dwarf said and he really did look like he was sorry for the events that were about to take place. Jon rose without a word, followed by Sansa and then Arya and Gendry.

 

They all stood in the Godswood, and Arya took her sister’s hand when she felt her tense beside her. Jon – Aegon – was standing before the Heart Tree wearing all black, his hair tied like Eddard Stark used to tie his. Arya was uncomfortable in the dress that matched Sansa’s. It’s a dark grey with white dire-wolves running along the hemlines. She looked forward to going north again so she wouldn’t have to wear the blasted things. Samwell Tarly was next to the carved face, waiting to begin the ceremony.

Heads turned as Arianne Martell entered the Godswood, she wore an orange dress with hints of gold and red. She walked alone, not lead by anyone as the custom would have been. Arya admires her for it.

“Who comes before the Old Gods this day?” Samwell Tarly asks when she is but a few steps from Jon.

“Arianne, of House Martell. Heiress to Sunspear and Dorne. A woman grown, trueborn and noble. I come here to be wed” Arianne doesn’t say she begs the Gods’ blessing.

“Who comes to wed her?” Samwell says, it had been decided that the word _claim_ would need to be replaced as Dorne was largely independent and Jon didn’t like the notion of _owning_ someone.

“Aegon, of House Targaryem. King of the Seven Kingdoms” Jon almost tripped over the name he’d had no choice but to claim.

“Lady Arianne, do you take this man?” Samwell asked.

“I do” Arianne spoke clearly and Arya could see some of the same steel that Sansa was made of.

“Your Grace, Aegon the sixth of his name, do you take this woman?” Samwell looked at his friend with barely concealed sympathy and regret.

“I do” Jon said and took a deep breath as he removed the black cloak from around his shoulders and draped it over the shoulders of his wife. The woman stood proud as applause broke out. Arya cheered along with everyone else for appearances sake.

 

The feast was a lot merrier than the previous ones combined. An important alliance to maintain peace had been solidified and there was more Dornish wine. Jon and Arianne were conversing about something Arya couldn’t hear but she saw the tension in her brother’s jaw. He was thinking about the bedding that would take place after the three course meal was completed. Arya didn’t exactly dread her own bedding as she would be marrying Gendry, but she didn’t look forward to having men pull at her clothes, seeing the scars on her body.

Sansa was unusually quiet, sipping her wine with a faraway look on her face. For a moment Arya thought her sister might cry but the notion was quashed as Sansa put her mask back in place. Maybe she was thinking about her own horrific weddings and marriages… or maybe she was thinking about the one man she’d have married willingly. Or she was thinking about who she’d arrange a marriage with to strengthen the North. It was nearly impossible to tell.

She glanced at Gendry who sat beside her now that he was a Lord and officially announced as her betrothed. There had been a lot of talk about it and it had made her blood boil. Haughty Lords had claimed he wasn’t worthy of her and other things not worth repeating. She’d found Gendry in the forge beating metal so hard he ruined the sword he’d been making and he’d had to start all over again. She’d pulled him in for a heated kiss that would definitely resulted in clothes laying strewn across the floor had it not been for Ser Davos who’d walked in through the door. The older man had turned so red she thought all the blood in his body had collected in his face.

 

The commotion when the bedding was announced by Tyrion Lannister was immense. The men could barely contain themselves as they grabbed at the bride’s clothes, she was laughing along with them as they carried her towards the bed chamber that had been prepared. Arianne Martell was Dornish through and through.

Jon – Aegon – was not as keen on the bedding ceremony and soon enough the Ladies of the court weren’t either. Arya drew in a breath as she saw the ugly scars on his torso when one particularly enthusiastic woman dressed in blue managed to pull his shirt off. Sansa was staring at the scars but she didn’t look shocked, she’d probably seen them before or at least been told about them. Arya had of course known that Jon had been stabbed through the heart and _died_ before the Red Woman brought him back, but she hadn’t thought much about the marks that would’ve been left behind.

Most of the southern Ladies gasped, one actually shrieked in horror, at the sight. Sansa quickly took charge and ushered Jon through the chamber and into the actual bridal chamber where Arianne was waiting. To her credit, the future Queen didn’t seem at all perturbed by the scars as she took in her husbands near naked body. Arya strained to look behind her to see if Gendry was there, but she couldn’t see him.

Arianne Martell was gracefully lounging on the bed and Arya saw her eyes become heady with desire. At least the woman wasn’t squeamish or delicate.

“Why don’t you come to bed, Your Grace” her voice was seductive and Arya half expected Jon to eagerly get to it. He didn’t, he walked like a man headed for his own execution. The Lords and Ladies left the chamber as the King laid his hand on his wife’s knee, it was all the confirmation they needed.

Sansa and Arya left the official witnesses to listen at the door, Tyrion Lannister and Ser Davos and two Dornishmen. She had no desire to hear her brother – cousin – fuck his new wife. Absentmindedly she put her hand on her stomach, the swell still wasn’t obvious when someone else looked as she’s wearing clothes, but she could feel it. Sansa’s eyes fell to the hand and from the look in her sister’s eyes, she knew that Sansa knew.

“I suppose it’s just as well you’ll be married in three days” Sansa quipped with something akin to longing. As a child, Sansa had gone on and on about giving birth to little princes and princesses. Arya didn’t know what her sister would think about the prospect after everything she’d been put through.

“Don’t tell Jon, I don’t want him to know yet” Arya said, looking up into the blue eyes of her sister.

“He already knows you and Gendry have shared a bed since the battle of Winterfell” Sansa’s brows furrowed.

“I know… but if he knows about the… babe… he’ll no longer be able to pretend that all we do is sleep” she laughed and Sansa chuckled. Their brother – cousin – was strange.

“I guess not” Sansa agreed and linked her arm with Arya’s as they went back to the feast hall, leaving the faint sounds of pleasure coming from the bridal chamber behind.

 

The morning after the wedding was awkward. Jon and Arianne broke their fast in the bridal chamber and Sansa ate in her own. Arya took the opportunity to spend some time with Gendry in the forge. He was working on something and wouldn’t tell her what it was.

“If it’s a boy, I want to name him Sandor” she blurted out and Gendry whirled around to look at her with wide eyes.

“You want to name our child after The Hound?” he said, they hadn’t discussed names at all.

“He saved our lives… he’s the reason I chose life in the first place. He… was something like a father after I escaped the Brotherhood” she bit her lip, worried he might object to it. Gendry had not seen that part of the Hound. The part that was still capable of loving and caring, even if the expression of it was harsh.

“I know… I’d just thought you’d want to name a son after your father” He scratched his short beard and he got a thoughtful look on his face.

“I don’t…” she didn’t quite know why she didn’t want to name her child after the honourable Eddard Stark. It just felt wrong, somehow.

“What if it’s a girl?” Gendry asked as he cupped her face with his sooty hands, they left black smudges on her cheeks.

“Lyanna… after Lady Lyanna Mormont” she stared up at him and relaxed at his broad smile.

“Not after your aunt?” his tone was teasing but Arya felt a strange anger rise in her chest. She’d always been likened to her aunt, those old enough to remember her dead aunt said she looked like her and had the same fiery temper. She used to take pride in the comparison… but after learning how her aunt had caused so much strife in the Realm, she didn’t like it nearly as much. She understood her aunt loving someone and wanting to be with that person, but to run away and get married in secret and swearing her father to secrecy… Arya thought that the one most like their aunt had been Robb after all, he’d made the same mistake. She knew she was being unfair toward a woman she’d never known, but nothing ever had been fair in Westeros.

“No…” Gendry didn’t press on with any other questions and she rested her head against his chest.

“You’ll be my wife in two days” he whispered as he gently caressed the sensitive skin behind her ears.

“I know” her response was muffled by his shirt and she breathed in the scent of him. She missed him in her bed more than she could express in words. She still didn’t get much sleep, but the herbs Samwell had given her helped.

“I love you” he said as he placed a soft kiss at the top of her head and she wrapped her arms around his waist.

“I know,” she murmured as she pressed herself closer to him still, “and I love you, even if you’re a stupid bull and a _Lord_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a while since I updated... real life has been a pain and drained all my energy to write.


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